Falling Stars
by GranthamGal
Summary: A drabble series spanning Robert and Cora's relationship, with prompts all generated from the tumblr imagineyourOTP. Each drabble will be 500 words or less and will depict various points throughout their lives.
1. Games

_A/N: Hello, all! I've decided to begin a drabble series with prompts taken from ImagineyourOTP on tumblr. Each will be randomly selected and the drabbles will be 500 words or less. I hope to update this three times a week and the schedule will likely be Sunday, Tuesday and Friday. My longer fics are on a bit of a hiatus right now, as I finish my semester at school, and so this will be more of a creative outlet for the time being. I do hope you all like it and if you've any suggestions I'm open to them! So, without further ado..._

**_1. Imagine your OTP eating lunch together in a crowded place, perhaps with their friends. They are unaware of their feelings for each other. Suddenly, Person A's foot accidentally brushes against Person B's, and with a flustered apology, they shrug the incident off. But then, Person B, realizing they liked the feeling, brushes their foot against Person A's on purpose, and soon they find themselves playing an intimate game of footsies._**

* * *

It was customary, his mother insisted, that she come to Downton to meet the family—and a collection of curious neighbors—before marrying into it. Invitations were sent out and he knew his mother had taken extra care when selecting the luncheon menu, even though she continued to regard the date with a skillfully indifferent sigh.

They had spent only a handful of hours in one another's company.

There was the first ball, where they danced twice and managed a few short conversations.

Then a walk through the park, where he reached out for her arm just as she tripped on an errant pebble. She smiled and declared him _her protector, _blushing when she realized the boldness of her words. He knew in that moment if he were going to marry then Cora would do quite nicely. He could not promise love, but protection he could manage.

And so in the fashion of a proper courtship they took teas together, danced at more balls and spoke only of the most superficial topics. One did not divest oneself of particulars until _after _the wedding, his mother insisted.

But now there was to be a luncheon so that he could parade Cora around like the prize he knew his parents, or his father at least, saw her as. The biting guilt buried in the pit of his stomach only grew, making him acutely aware he was supposed to think her that as well.

Luncheon was filled with pointed gazes and questions. If the guests were not peppering his mother with questions about the wedding, then they were making snide remarks about Americans as though his betrothed was not sitting right beside him. Cora kept her composure, eating and answering questions when asked. But being seated so closely to her made him nervous, for he could feel the tension radiating from her body. He shifted in his seat, painfully aware of the lack of space between them and inwardly cursed himself when his foot knocked against Cora's leg. He murmured an apology, but she continued eating, seemingly unaware of his embarrassment.

Robert turned, to hide his blush, and began a conversation with his sister instead. But he was quickly drawn out of his sensible, coherent thoughts when he felt something brush against his leg some time later. Resisting the urge to turn, he continued his conversation with Rosamund until it happened again—and then once more within the span of five minutes.

And then, much to his horror, he felt himself growing hot under the collar in the midst of luncheon. He turned to Cora, but was not even met with her gaze as she was still eating intently. He cursed himself again, for being so stupid as to think her gesture was intentional, but stopped himself mid-internal profanity when he realized her lips were upturned into a faint smile and she, too, had a slight blush painted across her cheek.

It was, as they spoke so eloquently of in novels, a beginning.


	2. Planets

_A/N: I'd just like to mention that I will be taking some creative license with the prompts. My only rule is that I won't use any that contain modern elements (i.e. video games). Everything else has been chosen using the "random post" feature on imagineyourOTP's tumblr. _

**_Imagine your OTP visiting another planet._**

* * *

They all speak differently, and stare every time he opens his mouth. Cora says he's being childish; he insists that she overestimates his ability to acclimate to change.

It is all terribly strange and so very foreign to him. America may as well be another planet, for he has not the slightest clue how to interact in any situation here. Cora promises that he is imagining the sideways glances and muted chuckles every time he leaves the dinner table, but he is quite sure that her brother and his friends are mocking him.

Days pass and the stilted attempts at acclimating are mostly failed. The baseball game he is forced into ends with a bat to the shin—which Harold insists was an accident—and his wife tending to him as though he were a wounded child. The trip to the museum ends with similar feelings, when Cora wanders off and he finds himself wandering lost and alone for nearly an hour. His mother was right, he realizes after nearly two weeks—it truly is another planet here.

It isn't entirely bad, this foreign planet in which he really is not welcome. For he and Cora can walk up and down the streets hand in hand without being given a second glance. Americans, it seems, are far more liberal than the English when it comes to interactions of an amorous sort.

Just to test this theory, as he would be remiss if not to study completely the curious world he finds himself stranded in, he takes Cora to the park one afternoon under the guise of a having a picnic. He rather hates picnics, as eating in the grass seems uncouth, but he can think of no better way to produce an accurate read on the situation. They choose a location by the small lake and lay out a blanket, sitting much closer than they would at home as they unpack the contents of the basket.

It isn't until half way through lunch that Robert puts his plan to action. Grinning widely as he did when he was a young boy doing something mischievous, he leans forward and kisses his wife with little regard for the various people strolling by. He feels Cora's lips tense against his own, but she does not pull back and instead wraps her arms around him, edging herself just a bit closer.

Robert releases her a moment later with a final kiss pressed to her cheek.

"What on earth has gotten into you?" Cora whispers, the mirth in her eyes belying her attempt at seriously questioning him. If pressed she would unabashedly admit being thrilled by his impetuous gesture. It is only on rare occasion that he attempts anything so blatantly romantic in the presence of others.

Robert only shakes his head, kissing her once more as he whispers "just acclimating to my new surroundings," against her skin.

He is quickly coming to find the new world is rather to his taste after all.


	3. Canon

_Posting this ahead of schedule because I've never been any good at keeping to schedules :)_

**_Imagine your OTP becoming canon._**

* * *

She is hiding in the washroom; quite sure it is the safest place to be.

Kneeling down close to the tile floor, fabric pooling around her feet, she listens as her mother flits around the room directing the flower girls and her soon to be sister-in-law. Violet has not partaken in any of the morning's activities and so Martha relishes in her position of power.

She sits with her back to the door and listens to Rosamund suggest they all go downstairs, as the carriages are waiting. She breathes a sigh of relief when the women clear out of her new bedroom and stands up a moment later, ready to step into her new life.

Looking into the mirror one final time, she wonders if she looks like a future countess and then wonders fleetingly if Robert will think her beautiful when she walks down the aisle?

Her father is waiting at the foot of the stairs, eyeing his pocket watch as she walks quietly down the grand staircase of her new home. He smiles and tells her she looks beautiful, jesting that it isn't too late to back out if she wants to.

She doesn't dare tell him that it is too late.

Blocking out her pounding heart as they get into the carriage she thinks of the documents she has already signed, effectively giving her money away to a pack of strangers. She remembers the way Robert smiled when they were introduced and how he knelt down in the drawing room of her parent's rented London home and asked her to marry him.

She thinks of how she barely knows him and how she already loves him so terribly much.

Before she can assure her father of that much, the carriage stops and he helps her out, leading her toward the church. He smiles at her once more before they walk through the doors and he kisses her cheek. She hopes the look in his eyes is not disappointment, and she clutches his arm a bit tighter as they walk down the aisle.

He is her very last bit of home.

She is just a step away from the alter when Robert finally turns around, his eyes alight with what looks like fear and his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

But then their eyes meet and he smiles like he did the first night they met when he told her he thought she was lovely. She feels, for the first time that day, excited for what will come.

The ceremony passes in a blur. It isn't until he vows his final vows that their eyes truly lock again, realizing the gravity of what they both have done.

_With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow._

And then, as simple as that, they become one—husband and wife for better and worse. He leans down to kiss her and she feels their worlds gently collide.


	4. Bath

_A/N: I swear I wanted to keep to my schedule...but I just couldn't! I'm thinking for now I'll post every other day, since I've got a bunch of prompts already finished and I'm too impatient to wait to post them :)_

**_Imagine your OTP taking a shower or bath together, but instead of getting frisky they innocently goof around in the water and wash each other's hair and relax in each other's arms._**

* * *

Every muscle in her back and abdomen winces in protestation when she lowers herself into the water. It has already been four weeks since Mary's birth but her body is still worn from the long labor. Shooing her maid away after insisting that she only wants a few moments of peace and quiet—though honestly she simply wants the woman to stop asking if she needs help—she lies back against the wall of the tub and closes her eyes as the warm water pools around her body.

Only moments later a knock at the door draws her out of quiet relaxation and makes her wince, wondering why on earth the woman is back already?

But she turns to find Robert standing in the open doorway, smiling down at her.

"I thought you had business in the village?"

He shakes his head, a boyish grin on his face. "I came back early. I wanted to see you and Mary."

"Well, you've found one of us," she smiles.

It thrills her how taken he is with their daughter; today marks the third time this week he has returned early to spend time with them both before dinner and she finds herself bursting with the joy of it all, the joy of their family.

"Indeed, I have."

His voice is louder now and when she looks, she sees he has crossed the room and closed the space between them. He kneels down beside the tub and presses a kiss to her forehead, brushing away a damp lock of hair.

"Might I…might I join you?"

She always finds his blush endearing, when it comes to these sorts of things. For all the passionate nights they have shared, he still finds it difficult to speak so plainly sometimes. And so she helps him along. Nodding her head and smirking a bit she sits up, gesturing her approval as she makes room for him.

Soon it is Robert's chest and not the wall of the tub that she rests against, humming quietly as he runs the sponge up and down her arms. His body feels warm behind her and she releases an audible sigh when he leans forward to kiss her shoulder.

She knows that he is likely counting down the days until they can be together again, properly that is, but she finds it all the more endearing when he kisses her gently once more and then reaches for the shampoo and starts to wash her hair. He has been particularly gentle with her since Mary's arrival, and the months preceding as well.

"You make a very good Lady's maid."

He chuckles, amused by the appellation and splashes her playfully.

They tease one another and giggle until the water runs cold, forgetting completely the late hour of the afternoon and the nearness of the dressing gong. Robert gets out first, holding up a large white towel for her to step into. He wraps it around her and kisses her lips, softly and punctuated with a sweet affection that makes her whole body tingle.

"I don't mind playing Lady's maid," he explains. "For you, I'd play anything."


	5. Band

**_Imagine your OTP are in a band together, and when they're playing live on stage they're giving each other the sex eyes._**

* * *

"Now, now," he heard his sister exclaim above the noise of her annual holiday party, "we must have some entertainment!"

Robert watched her direct one of her acquaintances to a piano in the corner and whisper something into his ear. Turning her attention back to the guests, she grinned a patently Rosamund smirk—another hint that things were about to descend into madness—and clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.

"I shall need a volunteer!" She announced. "Someone must sing and accompany the piano; it's more festive that way." Rosamund's face was bright from the holiday punch and he could see her swaying ever so slightly as she clutched at the nearest chaise to balance herself.

Robert was just about to sit, ignoring his sister's slurred request completely, when a familiar voice interrupted—

"I volunteer!"

He twisted in his seat and looked incredulously as his wife stood, stumbling slightly as well, and raised her hand. She too was clearly inebriated, though admittedly he found it far more charming on Cora than his sister. Her cheeks were stained a soft red from the glasses of wine he'd brought her and matched the deep red dress that fell just above her ankle. He might not agree with a great many things in the new world, but his wife's new fashions were certainly more…interesting, to say the least.

"We volunteer!" Cora repeated, drawing him out of his musings.

"We?" He questioned, standing and crossing the distance between them until he was beside her, holding her arm to act as a support.

"Yes, we volunteer."

Cora practically bounced over to the piano and murmured something to Rosamund before beckoning him over, just as a familiar tune began to play.

"Come now, darling, it'll be fun!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious and with his own inhibitions lowered considerably, Robert saw no reason why not to indulge her. It was not as if any of Rosamund's drunken guests would ever remember.

And before he could contemplate it further, he heard the melodic tone of his wife singing.

_I am dreaming Dear of you, day by day_

_Dreaming when the skies are blue, When they're gray;_

_When the silv'ry moonlight gleams, Still I wander on in dreams,_

_In a land of love, it seems, Just with you._

She paused after the first verse, and turned to him, her eyes full of a youthful hope that made his heart melt. Taking a deep breath, and wishing it were a long sip of scotch, he cleared his throat and began to sing.

_Let me call you "Sweetheart," I'm in love with you._

_Let me hear you whisper that you love me too._

Cora smiled widely at the sound of his voice and took a step closer, reaching to take his hand as she picked back up at the next lines, their voices mingling together now.

_Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true._

_Let me call you "Sweetheart," I'm in love with you._

She squeezed his hand, her eyes flickering with love, and he wanted so very much to kiss her, but even intoxicated he knew that it was not the right moment for that. And so he turned his attention back to the music, singing along the rest of the song with his wife, and gazing only into her eyes. He could feel Cora's warm stare on him, and tried to keep from blushing when she leaned in and kissed his neck at the close of the song, whispering _I love you_ against his neck.

The party disbanded soon after their performance, the guests stumbling home or upstairs to a guest bedroom for the night, memories of holiday lights, songs and drink fresh in their memories.

And so Robert carried his wife, his sweetheart, up to bed, knowing full well that their night was not finished just yet.


	6. Rain

**_Imagine your OTP gets into a fight, and person A leaves the house upset, and just stands outside in the rain, while person B silently seethes inside before running outside and kissing person A in the downpour._**

* * *

_"If you don't start behaving like us then this will never work—"_

His voice was cold and his face full of anger. Another dinner had passed with tense looks between the family and snide remarks from his mother. She thought she could handle it all until they started in again about the need for an heir. When they married, no one told her she would turn instantly into some sort of means to an end. She thought love and family would factor into the equation in some way, even if only a small part.

And he had just sat there, pushing food around his plate like a child, never raising his eyes to look at her.

He was a coward, she thought in her darker moments.

Or perhaps he just did not care.

He did not love her.

Three months and he had yet to say a single word against his family on her behalf.

And so she decided it was time for speak on her own behalf, choosing dinner as the time to stand and start yelling, earning her bewildered looks from the entire table. She stormed out before anyone had the chance to reprimand her, but Robert came to her room right after, his face pinched into a comically hard expression.

_"—Cora, don't you understand? You mustn't say things like that, not during dinner at least!"_

It took all her resolve to look into his eyes.

"It is you who doesn't understand. It is you who must learn to behave! You all have no right to treat me like some outsider; my last name is the same as yours now. You have a lot of nerve taking my money, taking my heart and sharing my bed each night but failing to defend me even just once."

Her words had the desired effect and Robert's embarrassment, perhaps even regret, was immediately palpable. His shoulders slumped and he stepped forward as if to take her hand. But it was too late for all of that; she would not be the one to give in again.

And so she stormed out.

Brushing past her husband—who called after her—she ran down the stairs, past the curious servants, and out the door, knowing full well Robert was not about to sully his dinner jacket with the poor weather.

It was raining and cold and quite dark.

She wondered if leaving now would reverse it all, wondered if she could go back to her life before?

It was so very cold out.

The door clicked open behind her but she did not turn. She was not willing to be ushered inside by some servant just yet. She wanted to feel the raindrops and air and pretend for a moment that everything might just be alright.

But there was no footman sent outside and it was instead her husband's arms that wrapped around her damp body a second later. Wordlessly, as perhaps there were no words fit, he turned her around and kissed her forehead, looking more remorseful than she had ever seen him as he took her hand and led her inside.

He took her straight down to the kitchen where he requested a pot of hot cocoa for them both.

They were mostly silent that night, sitting beside one another in their damp dinner clothes. They were silent for days and weeks after, still navigating the precarious bond being forged; but once that rainstorm passed, Cora noticed that the house did seem remarkably warmer.


	7. Sunset

**_Imagine your OTP walking up a hill to gaze out at the sunset, before falling asleep nuzzled next to each other._**

* * *

Cora always stood by the window before going to bed each night, gazing up at the stars with a youthful curiosity that Robert couldn't find anything other than endearing. Her eyes would glitter with excitement on particularly clear nights as she called him to stand beside her, asking him to point out particular constellations.

Unlike the summer before, though, there was little time for either of them to spend outside. Cora, already being four months pregnant with their first child, had been confined indoors and so most of their days consisted of gazing out windows instead of taking advantage of the beautiful summer weather. It was less thrilling to look outside when the possibility of actually _going_ outside was no longer allowed.

But Robert was never one to do exactly as he was told.

And so, his frustrated and bored wife in mind, he decided a change in scenery was in order for them both. Knocking on her door just before the dressing gong one evening, Robert waited for a few seconds before Cora appeared, looking slightly perplexed.

"You're early, darling."

"Late, actually. We have plans for the evening."

"Oh?"

Cora's raised brow and obvious curiosity were all the confirmation Robert needed to assure him that his plan would go over well and he nodded in confirmation, taking her hand and leading her downstairs and out the door at the back of the house. It was the perfect summer night: clear, warm, and coincidentally an evening his parents were dining with neighbors. His luck had conspired to provide them both with the opportunity to escape for the evening, unseen.

And so they did.

Robert held protectively to Cora's hand, asking every so often if she needed to stop and rest as they walked toward his secret location. It was not a very far walk and before long they were at the crest of a hill, overlooking some of the lushest green fields on the property. The warm golden sun began to set just as Robert uncorked a bottle of red wine he'd hidden up there earlier in the day, along with a blanket.

His wife relaxed considerably, even unbuckling her stiff leather walking boots as they reclined on the blanket, sipping her one-allowed glass of wine and chatting quietly as the sun disappeared behind the trees.

The stars became visible a short while later just after Robert lay back, encouraging Cora into his arms so he could point straight up and tell her about the various stars and constellations as he often did. He only made it through two before his wife fell asleep pressed against his chest. He did not have the heart to wake her, to have her walk all the way back, and so he closed his eyes as well, reaching down to press his palm against her swollen abdomen where their child grew.

He couldn't remember ever feeling more alive.


	8. Drink

**_Imagine your OTP getting drunk together and doing silly stuff, like badly singing or dancing around on the sofa._**

* * *

She hadn't intended to do it, or, at least she had not planned to from the start.

Everything had been so gloomy around the house lately; her father in law's death seemed to have brought with it a permanent black mourning cloak for Downton and all its inhabitants—Robert most of all.

All she wanted was for him to have a bit of fun, just one night where he could be her Robert again and not the silent, brooding new earl that everyone eyed curiously, waiting to see if he would drop the ball.

She worried about him so terribly much.

And so, without fully realizing what she was doing, she found herself pouring liquor into the holiday punch. It had been rather easy, actually. No one seemed to notice her stealing away from the party and cornering a footman, taking the fresh punch he was en-route with. And once the deed was done, so to speak, no one even noticed her replacing the bowl on the top of the liquor cabinet. Robert was none the wiser when he approached a few moments later, forcing a smile as he refreshed his drink.

She realized a short while later that she may have been over ambitious in her pouring.

Robert, her sweet and stoic husband, was kneeling in the corner of the room, and looked to be crying. As Cora approached, feeling horribly guilty, and knelt beside him, she realized he was not crying—he was laughing, laughing hysterically in fact.

"CORA! Oh, thank goodness you're here." He jumped up, his eyes alight with excitement as he giggled again and reached for her hand.

"Darling, are you feeling quite alright?" She supposed it would be wisest not to mention her involvement in the entire situation. He deserved to have a bit of fun after all.

"Oh, yes, I am alright. Quite alright! In fact, I must tell you that I feel happier right now than I have in weeks." And without further explanation, he practically skipped back to the center of the room, chatting animatedly with guests as the party wore on. She watched from afar as he laughed loudly, engaged with his friends in a few risqué pub songs, and even swooped her up into his arms at one point during a particularly exciting dance.

By the end of the night, Cora too was feeling the effects of excess as she struggled to keep up with her inebriated husband. It was a lesson learned rather quickly, that it was impossible to outdrink Robert, and so the new Earl and his countess stumbled all the way up to their bedroom.

"You know I love you, don't you?"

His voice was soft and she could hear him struggling not to slur his words.

"Of course I do."

"I just—I just need you to know that."

"I know. And I love you."

Even in the dark of their room she could see him smile, and when he pressed himself closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and settling in beside her, she knew that he would be alright. Eventually, everything would brighten again.


	9. Loss

_A/N: So I rarely post two chapters so close together, but I'll be unable to post for a few days and so I thought I'd leave you all with one more! Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! _

**_Imagine your OTP having a miscarriage/losing a child._**

* * *

He had been in the village posting an armful of letters that afternoon. The news was too exciting not to share, and it was a particularly beautiful day for a walk. He passed his mother on his way out, waving as she headed inside to take tea with Cora.

The early summer air smelled sweet, if that was possible, and each step down to the village added a certain spring in his already light steps. The letters were posted and he even finished early enough to stop in the flower shop to retrieve a bouquet for his wife. He enjoyed another quiet walk all the way back to the house, flowers in hand.

Well, almost all the way back.

The slight female figure pacing outside the house looked at first to be just one of the maids, sweeping the front step as they often did. But when the house came more clearly into view, Robert saw it was Mary who locked eyes with him and walked briskly in his direction.

She was paler than he'd ever seen her, except for her hands. They were bright red, and looked as though she'd had to scrub them clean of something.

"—Mary?"

She shook her head, as if wishing the words would simply fall out.

"Oh, Papa."

The pang of fear in her voice was enough to knock him off his feet. He wanted to go back, back to the quiet walk and the sweet summer air. He knew before she said the words. And that, that was enough to bring him to his knees.

In an uncharacteristically warm gesture, Mary held out her hand and helped steady him, pulling him into a tentative embrace. She led him inside, though he abandoned her at the foot of the stairs—desperately hoping that if he ran upstairsquickly enough then something could still be done.

It was a hard truth to swallow, learning it was already done.

It was much later when he woke, still in his suit from the morning and tangled uncomfortably under the blankets with Cora sleeping beside him. Her face was still as pale as Mary's had been and her hands clutched painfully tight around her pillow. He knew she needed to eat, but waking her seemed cruel. Sleep, at least, would be peaceful.

Sitting up, his gaze traveled to Cora's vanity where a crystal vase housed the bright flowers he'd carried back earlier in the day. Walking over to them, he could see they were a bit worse for wear, after having been dropped and discarded on the front walkway. But still, they were quite nice.

As quietly as he could, Robert picked up the lovely vase and walked over toward the window. He opened it, still moving carefully, and felt the breeze rush into the room. He looked out on the bright green lawn for a long moment before opening the window more fully and hurling the vase right out.


	10. Deeply

_A/N: I am back and will commence with my original frequency of updates! Also, thanks to the "Imagine your OTP" gods for this prompt. It's so very fitting for these two! _

_**Imagine that Person B of your OTP is deeply in love with Person A, and they are in a relationship together, but Person A does not feel as deeply for Person B.**_

* * *

"Robert?"

"Yes…?"

The quickness of his response surprised her, though she could tell he still felt odd calling her by her name. While she had moved from _Lord Downton _to _Robert _with secret excitement after the wedding, he rarely let her name pass through his lips. Every so often he would call her _dear, _which might have made her heart flutter a bit if he didn't seem so uncomfortable when saying it.

"I…never mind. I think I am going to head up. It's rather late."

He nodded, frowning only slightly, and then smiled slightly. "If you're sure. Goodnight."

She managed to make it upstairs and all through the process of dressing for bed, careful to show no emotion in front of her maid, before dissolving into tears on the bed. He was so stoic, her husband, and it seemed every event in public would be fraught with terse words and miscommunication. She could not tell him what she wanted to, for he would certainly think her more ridiculous than he likely already did. It wasn't easy, loving someone who seemed intent on keeping his emotions so tightly bound.

She couldn't tell him that it made her heart sink to watch him laugh with Lady Elizabeth Russell, the young woman from his childhood who was obviously the woman his mother would have preferred as a daughter in law.

She couldn't tell him how she wanted to kiss him, even in front of all those people, because perhaps then they would stop looking at her like such an outsider and instead see her as Lord Downton's wife.

Lord Downton's wife—Robert's wife—was all she really wanted to be.

Her tears stopped eventually, as they always did, and the throbbing pain in her chest turned to the same dull ache that occupied the space each day. She listened in the stillness of the room to her husband's footsteps as he returned upstairs from the party and went straight to his dressing room. The soft glow of candlelight under his door kept her awake, and she wondered if he was thinking about her.

She feared, somewhat irrationally, that his thoughts were occupied somewhere else entirely. Or on someone else entirely.

After a time, likely after he read a bit from his book, the candles were blown out and there was only dark space between their doors. It was too far for her to hear him breathing, or snoring even, and so she settled on clutching his pillow instead. It wasn't really his pillow, as he didn't sleep in her room, but it was on the side of the bed he used when they were together, and it smelled faintly of his cologne.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, resolving to find some way to tell him how she felt. For the alternative, sleeping alone and wondering about their relationship for nights on end, seemed too harsh a reality to face.


	11. Alley

**_Imagine your OTP making out in an alley._**

* * *

His lips flamed against the skin of her neck as the cool brick wall pressed into the delicate skin on her back, meshing against her new silk gown. The night had been long, overheated and full of laughter—as English summer nights often were—and the Earl and Countess were on their way back to Grantham House when Cora's stoic, sweet husband, as if possessed by some impetuous gust, pulled her down an unlit alley.

His breath was labored and warm from their long walk; he was the one who insisted on not calling for the car at the end of the party, and she could feel his hands gripping at the flimsy garment, as if willing it to dissipate from her body. She felt delicate and feminine in his strong embrace, and like she was the only one who could ever satisfy the urge coursing through him as his teeth nipped at her earlobe and his fingers played at her sides.

_Robert…darling….people…home _

Words were lost in the thick air between them and any doubt she had about allowing this to happen in an ostensibly public place died instantly when his hand finally worked its way under her dress and settled between her legs.

He'd drank too much, she'd drank too much, it was all terribly improper and would be the talk of the town if anyone happened past them. But it was a new world, now. It was the 1920's and somehow the night had conspired to make it seem like a very good idea.

He murmured her name softly between kisses, a gentle adoration sweetly juxtaposed against his almost animalistic actions. She could feel his need pressing between them, knew he was holding himself back, and was grateful for her sweet husband who even in a moment of passion always wanted to preserve her honor and keep her happy. His lips were on her again a second later and she knew he would always be able to keep her happy. Better than anyone else in the world, he knew how to keep her happy.

An aroused, or perhaps frustrated grunt from her husband pulled her out of her musings, making her focus on the dark blue eyes before her. He smiled, whispering, "you don't know what you do to me," in a low gravelly voice, and pulled her close. It was true, she could not understand the exact effect of her attentions, but just as he knew her, she knew him. And so she kissed him once more, soaking up the warm summer air and the feel of her husband against her, before taking his hand and leading them both out of the alley and toward the house—knowing full well that sleep would not be soon in coming.


	12. Notes

**_Imagine your OTP finding out they like each other for the first time. Person A passes person B a note that says "do you like me?" and when person B opens it they blush bright red. When person A gets it back, they get really excited and decide to keep the note forever._**

* * *

He is not particularly impetuous, or so he has been told. Rosamund insists that he will never make a decision without mulling it over for at least a month, and so when he finds himself furiously scribbling a note to a Miss Cora Levinson, he does pause at the oddity of it all for just a second.

The decision had been made for him, really, when he saw Lord Merton's dull son hovering around her all evening. He knew what would come next. They had already danced together twice, Miss Levinson and the Merton chap, and so then Merton would ask Miss Levinson's parents if he could call on her and soon they would be the talk of the town. They would be engaged by the end of the season and she would become Lady Merton—a most horrible sounding appellation if anyone asked him. Robert Crawley, Lord Downton, would be just a faded memory she kept of her first season if he did not act quickly. And so he borrowed a piece of stationary from his hosts' desk, found in a small library off of the ballroom, and made his move.

Slipping the note into her hand as she said her polite goodbyes, he wondered if she would even read it. He hoped she would. He might not be harboring grand romantic delusions about her, but she was beautiful and witty and he could see their lives together. It was a rather pleasant image. He watched her leave the ballroom and wondered if a note with the blotted words _"I would very much like to call on you tomorrow" _would be enough to sway her.

He feared it would not.

Miss Levinson had left the ball rather early and so he spent the next hour or so sitting at his table and watching young couples sway around the dance floor. He thought of his family, and his mother, and smiled when he thought of how perturbed she would be if she found out about his little stunt. Miss Levinson, or _Cora _as he secretly thought of her, was worth it. If she accepted his invitation, he could figure everything else later.

The ball died down late in the evening and Robert made his way out to the waiting carriage, hat in his hand and thoughts of the note finally slipping from his mind; he had, after all, tortured himself over it all evening. But the brief respite from wondering was short lived, for when he approached the carriage, the driver stepped down and handed him a slip of paper with jagged edges—the same paper his note had been written on. And on that ripped off corner was a single word.

_Yes. _


	13. Flu

**_Imagine your OTP taking care of each other. Person A has the flu and Person B is making them soup, taking their temperature and insisting they rest up._**

* * *

Cora had little experience raising boys. After Sybil's birth five years earlier, it seemed she and Robert were fated to be parents to their three lovely girls instead of raising a handful of little lords. Cora did not mind it, really, though it was certainly a sore spot each time Violet mentioned their lack of an heir. She always felt grateful for her children. But she particularly thanked God for her darling, strong willed daughters whenever their father happened to be ill, for there was nothing worse than Robert when he was under the weather.

According to a muffled whisper she'd overheard between two footmen, her dear husband had rang the bell seven times in quick procession and then demanded chicken soup with absolutely no carrots and a pot of weak tea and honey. He had very peculiar habits when he was ill and insisted that his requests did in fact lead to a faster recovery.

Cora was skeptical.

Whether Robert actually had the flu or not was questionable. After coming home with a slight cough and runny nose two days earlier, he insisted that he was coming down with something and needed to rest up, lest it turn into a full-blown illness. At first, she had been happy to indulge him: spending her afternoons reading to him and taking her tea in their bedroom seemed small sacrifices for her poor darling. But Robert not only appreciated the attention, he relished in it. Soon he began requesting particular books for her to read to him—then got irritated when she could not find the obscure titles—and wrote a long list of requests that she was to relay to Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes. They included directions about the temperature of his tea, the time he was to be woken in the mornings, and how often fresh blankets should be brought to their room.

When she found him in bed on day three, chuckling to himself over the latest mystery novel he'd had Carson go into town for, and an empty plate of tea biscuits on their bed, she was fairly certain the illness had passed.

"But I _am _sick," he complained when she finally suggested he get up for dinner. He coughed pathetically for effect and told her _yet again _that the doctor instructed him to rest in bed for at least a week.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when he begged her to take his temperature again. He was keeping the results in a small written log on the bedside table, checking it each hour on the hour. Remarkably, his temperature was perfectly normal—again.

She was about to insist he get up and join dinner, but when she reached across him to put the thermometer down he grabbed her hand, looking up at her with such an adorably helpless smile that she was unable to say no when he asked her to stay, insisting that she was the very best nurse in the entire world.

Her husband had not entirely overestimated his illness, though, for the next morning Cora awoke with a matching cough and her husband snoring beside her.


	14. Cocoa

**_Imagine your OTP huddled up on the couch, drinking hot cocoa, and watching the winter rain._**

* * *

"Papa, Mama says that we are not allowed to have sweets before dinner!" Edith's small voice squeaked from across the room as he put the finishing touches on Cora's and the girls' little surprise.

"Yes, Edith, but on special occasions it is quite alright."

His middle daughter looked skeptical but went back to playing with her dolls, eyeing him curiously from her spot beside the fire.

It had been a week of awful weather; he and Cora had been caught inside with the girls for a handful of days already and he knew it was wearing on them both. Cora had gone up to take a nap after a particularly rough morning—Mary had insisted she did not mean to trip Edith on their way out from breakfast but her explanation was rather shaky.

So making a preemptive strike, Robert decided that he would diffuse all the women in the house with a bit of a surprise. He had enlisted Edith's help, after swearing her to secrecy and promising her an extra biscuit for her effort, and set about transforming the drawing room into a small tea shop of sorts. There were two immaculately decorated tables, with Edith's china choices on display, and an assortment of cakes, tea and hot cocoa in small pots as well.

Sybil unfortunately slept right through the event, but Cora was beyond surprised by the little gesture—even kissing him square on the lips in front of the girls when she realized what he had done. Mary tried to behave as nonchalantly as possible; it was her latest habit to make everyone think she was utterly disinterested in anything that could be construed as 'babyish', but even her eyes lit up when she found out she would get her own table (along with Edith) and would be pouring the tea for them both.

The two small tables instead of one large one had been an admittedly selfish choice on Robert's part, because as soon as Mary and Edith sat down at their own special table, they were beyond engrossed in the magic of it all. They paid no attention to their parents who were sitting much closer to one another than they normally did, and seemed oblivious to the quiet whispers as well.

Mary and Edith didn't even bother asking to be excused when they finished, running hand in hand out of the room in the direction of their nursery to resume a game of dolls. Their parents were left to their own devices, sharing a mischievous smile as they relocated to the settee and curled up beside one another, Cora's head resting against Robert's shoulder and her nails scraping lazily up and down the arm he'd wrapped around her waist. They watched in quiet contentment as the rain drops splattered against the window, making tiny pattering noises that filled up the room with life.

It was a dreary, lovely, ordinary, perfect afternoon.


	15. Talk

**_Imagine your OTP post-sex, cuddled, talking. Not talking about anything in particular, just… talking and falling asleep in each other's arms._**

* * *

"Are you tired yet?"

"No."

"Really? I'm exhausted. I feel I've walked fifteen miles without water."

"That is what you compare our evenings to? I think I'm insulted."

"Cora, please, it was just an expression. I'm older now, I have less stamina than I once did."

"You seemed perfectly fine a few minutes ago, darling. That thing you did with your fingers was particularly…"

"Particularly what? I thought you liked that."

"I do like that! I meant 'particularly' in a good way. A particularly good way."

"Now you're just teasing me."

"Always."

"Good. Don't ever stop, alright?"

"Never, darling."

"Cora?"

"Yes, Robert?"

"I need to go into Ripon tomorrow, for new shoes. Do you want to come?"

"That's what you think of after we…?"

"Well, you just kicked me accidentally, and it made me remember. We could go have tea at that place you like, afterward. The place with the green door...I can't seem to remember the name."

"Oh, the little place on the corner? The one with the blueberry scones you like?"

"Yes, exactly. So will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Come with me?"

"Of course I will. But only if we can order those little sandwiches I like, too."

"You prefer tea sandwiches to my company? I think I'm insulted!"

"You've got quite a flair for the dramatic, Robert."

"And I learned it from you. I was quite dull before we married."

"Yes, I remember."

"Cora! I was only joking. You really think me dull?"

"Yes, terribly so."

"But…but I—"

"—Sometimes when you're talking to me, I'm actually daydreaming about princes in far away lands with majestic horses and gardens as far as the eye can see."

"…You're teasing me again."

"Yes."

"Why must you tease me? Not only am I duller than you, I'm much stupider as well."

"Careful, that's my husband you're speaking about."

"I thought you didn't love him; you called him dull."

"I always love him. Even when he's dull."

"Always? What about your fantasies of princes?"

"I don't need silly fantasies."

"No?"

"I already have a prince. And his gardens are quite vast."

"Hm. You should invite him over for tea. I'd like to meet him."

"Mmm, how about next week?"

"Perfect. So long as you'll still go into Ripon with me before you run off with him."

"I suppose I could manage that. There will be tea sandwiches after all."

"Oh yes, thank God for the tea sandwiches."

"Don't underestimate the power of a good tea sandwich, darling."

"…Cora I've no idea what you're talking about, which usually means it is time for sleep."

"Yes…sleep. I am tired, actually."

"Really? And I thought you just closed your eyes for the sport of it, darling."

"Hilarious. My husband is hilarious."

"And you still love him."

"Yes, I do. Always."

"Me too. You, I mean. I love you. Always."

"Goodnight, darling. I love you."

"Goodnight, Cora. I love you too."


	16. Scars

**_Imagine person A of your OTP kissing person B's scars._**

* * *

"I wish you would talk to me."

She could see anger flickering in his eyes as his hands flexed around the small cloth he'd taken from the cabinet in the washroom. He'd gone in to take a bath, having been out on the estate all day, and told her not to wait up for him. But she couldn't sleep. Sleep was elusive and fraught with worry, as of late. He wouldn't talk to her, but she could not help asking.

He had only been back from Africa for a month. She knew there would be an adjustment period; she simply never imagined it would be so difficult, or that he would seem so very different than the husband who left her to go off to war almost two years earlier.

The first few nights he woke up shouting. It was nothing intelligible, just frantic shouts that drew her out of sleep so quickly she nearly fell right out of bed. She thought they would be able to manage until one night about a week after his return. The shouting started, as was the new habit of their nighttime routine, and she thought she could stop it. His face was contorted into an expression of extreme discomfort when she sat up and grasped both of his shoulders, shaking lightly to wake him. But before she knew what was happening, her gentle, sweet husband had flipped her over, her back flush against the mattress, and straddled her—his hands twisted around her wrists as his weight pressed her down.

She hadn't meant to scream. But her immediate reaction was a loud, frightened scream that not only roused her husband out of his nightmare, it effectively alerted two hall boys and their children as well. Robert woke almost immediately, looking at her with horror as he realized she was crying and her wrists were still trapped in his grasp. He jumped off of her, apologizing profusely, just as Mary and Edith burst into the room crying, wanting to know if their mama was hurt.

She had never seen him look quite that upset.

He stopped sleeping in their bed after that, choosing instead to retire to his dressing room each night without elaboration.

And so here she stood, seemingly out of options, cornering him in the bathroom practically begging for an explanation. He'd barely spoken to her since the incident, except a few repeated apologies the day after. And now he looked so angry, she wondered if she'd made yet another mistake?

But then her sweet, quiet husband released his grasp on the towel and cast his eyes down to the floor. It was then she noticed the bright red scar, no longer than her finger, which pulled across the skin on his shoulder. She wanted so very much to hold him, to tell him it would all be alright. And so, throwing caution to the wind, she did. She crossed the room in three quick steps, wrapping her arms around him before he could protest, pressing her lips to the mark before he could cover it up again. He winced, reflexively, and went rigid for a few seconds before allowing himself to relax in his wife's embrace.

When he began to sob against her, his body nearly collapsing under the weight of it all, she knew that everything would be all right.

Eventually, they would find their way back to normalcy. For they had already found their way back to each other.


	17. Chocolates

_A/N: I admit I had no idea what "chubby bunny" was when I got this prompt, but after a bit of research I learned that it is a game in which two people stuff marshmallows in their mouths to see who can fit the most. So, here we are. I'll also admit that is so not what I thought 'chubby bunny' was going to be._

**_Imagine your OTP playing chubby bunny._**

* * *

Robert held out the tin of chocolates in question, daring her to take just one more. And Cora was never one to desert a challenge half way through, so she took a chocolate from the proffered tin and popped it into her mouth as she had the last three he offered.

When she turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she nearly burst them all out of her mouth with laughter. She knew if anyone ever saw her and Robert, the future Lord and Lady Grantham, sitting cross-legged on her bed, engaged in a contest to see who could stuff the most chocolate in their mouth, they would absolutely never ever hear the end of it. She knew she looked rather like a squirrel collecting nuts for the winter, but willed herself not to laugh just yet.

In the end it was Robert who was triumphant, stuffing six chocolates in his mouth before she had to throw in the towel. He chewed them all in victory before teasing her endlessly about being unable to defeat him. A few bawdy jokes may have passed between the two about his odd talent for stuffing his mouth with things, but soon they were both cleaned up from their little game and lying in bed waiting for sleep to claim them.

Cora had nearly fallen asleep when Robert pulled her a bit closer, chuckling softly against her hair.

"What on Earth are you laughing about?" She murmured, curling into his warm embrace. It was on cold winter nights like these that she most enjoyed sharing her bed with him.

"Nothing particularly. We are rather silly, though, aren't we?"

"And what ever would make you say that?" Cora drawled, turning until they were face to face. The last candle had long burned out, leaving only the moonlight to glimmer on their pale faces and bright eyes.

"I just had the most amusing image of Mama stumbling across us during our little chocolate challenge."

"Good thing your mother does not often find herself in our bedroom."

"Mmm, indeed, she would be shocked by the things that go on in here," Robert replied, leaning in to press a few light kisses to her neck. She could feel the rough of his cheek brushing against her skin as he began chuckling again, soon dissolving into a fit of outright laughter.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed. "I don't mean to be such a child."

"It's quite alright. I like to hear you laugh."

"Good. I feared after two years of marriage you'd start to get tired of me," he replied softly, his head still nuzzled below her chin.

"No, I never could," Cora replied even more softly, adding as an afterthought, "just so long as you don't play these ridiculous games with our children someday."

He laughed once more and tightened his arms around her, making her feel so terribly safe and loved.

"I might have to play some silly games with them. I'd hate for them to think me boring."

"Fine," Cora murmured in response, wiggling herself down until her head was resting against her husband's chest. She could feel her eyes closing and her body relaxing in the warmth of their bed. "You are the champion after all. It would be a shame should they not inherit your chocolate eating talents."

"Quite right. Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight, my love."


	18. Death

_A/N: I would just like to say that I did not want to write this. But, in keeping with the rules I tasked myself with, I also did not want to ignore the prompt for that reason. So this drabble comes with a **MAJOR WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH**. _

**_Imagine your OTP being separated by death. Person A becomes a ghost and watches over Person B as they grieve, guilt themselves and never sensing that small presence always there._**

* * *

She was prepared for it.

In a way, their whole lives had been preparing for this moment. It had always been about the succession, about the family legacy and about what would happen when they both were gone. It was perhaps a silly notion, she now realized, that she assumed they would be _gone _together. It felt cliché and unoriginal that he should leave her behind. That she would move to the dower house and be forced to attend dinners and flower shows, all the while pretending that her heart was not shattered into tiny, jagged pieces that tore her insides apart with every waking moment.

Each step took made her body ache with the effort of it.

She wondered why no one would simply put her out of her misery?

She could not say his name or even think it. She couldn't think of the way he held her hand during their morning walks, the way he complimented her before going down for dinner, or the way he would sleep so peacefully next to her each night. She couldn't think of his eyes, the light blue color she loved so dearly, and to think of his strong arms and hands was yet another reminder that she had no embrace to wrap herself in anymore.

The smell of his cologne lingering on their sheets made her want to claw at the fabric, scream until the gaping hole shot through her chest felt less exquisitely painful.

Their love was never supposed to be the stuff of stories. They had not planned on it being great. It was a good match; it was a well planned and executed decision. No one ever warned her of what would happen should the terms of the arrangement change and shift and grow to love. No one ever told her what it would feel like to stand in the damp spring grass and stare down into a dirty hole, looking at a dark shiny box that contained the only person in the world who knew her more than she knew herself.

There were no lessons on what to do with the vast oceans of pain lapping at her body and mind.

In a dull moment of recollection, she remembers telling Mary how certain she was that Sybil was watching over them all. Bitterly, she now knows the naiveté of her assurances, knows how utterly ridiculous the notion is. In his absence there is nothing. There are no signs of him, no balms to sooth the pain. There are only looks of pity from those around her, memories that fill the house that once was theirs, and the vague realization that she does not know how to live in a world where he does not exist. There is an absence of feeling and life in the house they made their home. There are sore, painful longings, nightmares and tears. It is not the life he would have wanted for her. And it is nothing she wants for herself anymore, either.

They take his clothes and pack them in boxes, stowing them away in the attic.

The snuffboxes, except for his favorite blue one, are sent to a relative in some far off county.

She removes his book from the bedside table and his dressing gown from the hook in her washroom.

Eventually the smell of his cologne fades from the sheets, but her sleep is still fraught with memories of a life she once lived.

A life she once lived with him.


	19. Mud

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed that last chapter. I know it was way out of the realm of what I usually write and I appreciated everyone's kind words. And just to answer a few people who have asked: there will be 50 drabbles in this series, most of which are already written. :)_

**_Imagine your OTP on a picnic, laughing and having a good time with each other. Then it starts raining. Instead of going home they decide to play in the rain and jump in the mud puddles. They then go home a wet, muddy mess, still laughing like little kids._**

* * *

Mary watched from the doorway to the library as her parents spoke in hushed tones just a few paces away. Her mama was smiling softly, like she nearly always was, but Papa had the look on his face that he always had when he was about to get upset. She watched as he scrunched up his forehead and shook his head, pointing to the window as he said something she could not quite hear.

"_But Robert, we promised them!" _

Mary smiled as her Mama's voice floated through the hall and she watched Papa's face turn to a little frown before sighing loudly and nodding in agreement. The eldest Crawley daughter slipped back into the library just before her parents turned around, intent on making sure they did not know she was listening.

Robert and Cora made their way back to the library, where they had left their two little girls in the care of the nanny for a few minutes. The day had started as a brilliant summer morning, full of sunshine and the promise of familial harmony. But as soon as a few dark storm clouds rolled in, their plans for a picnic seemed much less possible. Mary and Edith begged, insisting that they had been waiting weeks to go out on a proper picnic. Well, Mary had done most of the arguing, really; Edith sat beside her, twirling a blonde curl around her chubby little fingers. She was still young enough to go along with whatever her sister said.

And so the four Crawleys packed up their basket and blankets and headed for the tall hill on the far side of the property, the girls skipping along as their parents said silent prayers for good weather. They reached their location and made it through half the treats in the basket before the skies opened up, a rush of cool summer drizzle coating them in a matter of seconds.

Mary screeched in upset, insisting her dress would be ruined. Edith sat contentedly on the picnic blanket clapping her hands and sticking her tongue out to catch drops of precipitation as they fell. Robert and Cora busied themselves packing everything up as quickly as they could. It looked as though they'd make a clean escape until Robert lost his footing just as they all began to rush back. He, and Mary who'd insisted on being carried, slid halfway down the hill, effectively covering them both in mud, grass, and a few wildflowers as well.

Cora had never seen her husband in such a state of disarray, muddied with a few errant blades of grass sticking out of his hair. She readied herself for a little temper tantrum from the two highest-strung Crawleys, but was rather surprised when she realized both Robert and Mary were laughing hysterically, flinging mud at each other as they both attempted to stand on the slippery grass.

Some time later when Carson opened the door to greet the returning family, all four picnickers were covered from head to toe in mud, their clothes marked up with bright green patches, and all wearing wide smiles on their faces.


	20. Thunder

_A/N: So some of these more specific prompts I've been taking a few creative liberties with. Hope you enjoy! _

**_Imagine your OTP in bed during a thunderstorm. Suddenly, a flash of lightning and a great boom of thunder causes the power to go out! Regardless of whether they'd be afraid of the storm and the darkness or not, they end up holding each other close. Character A rests their head into character B's naked chest, and until they drift off into sleep, it feels like they're the only two people in the entire world._**

* * *

A loud, angry crack of thunder sounded through the halls. A flash of lightning quickly followed, gleaming through the windows and illuminating the inhabitants of Downton for the briefest of seconds. Cora was quite sure that the storms here were much worse than anything she'd ever experienced in New York. The sound of each raindrop hitting against her window made her turn uncomfortably in bed. She was not used to the loud rushing sound of the trees in the wind, nor was she adjusted to the way the floors creaked in protestation at every gust. The house, it seemed, was as uncomfortable in the storm as she was. Though, the house had much more time to adjust, Cora having only moved in two months earlier.

It was a thunderous roar just after she finally closed her eyes that roused her not only out of sleep but out of bed as well. Jumping up, the noise eliciting a surprised cry from her. She was even more bewildered when her husband came rushing through the adjoining door, wearing only his pajama trousers and a dressing gown draped loosely over his strong body seconds later.

"Good Lord, Cora. You gave me quite a fright." She tried to hide her abashed blush, even in the dark, as she felt his eyes run over her. The small candle he held did little to assuage her fear of the storm, and only intensified her discomfort with him in the room.

"I'm sorry. The storm, it—I'm not used to the house yet," she replied in a very soft voice. She glanced up just long enough to catch a peek of his face, a gentle smile pulling across his handsome features.

"They don't have rain in America?" His tone was light as he stepped closer to her. When she did not reply and only continued to stare out the window at the dark night sky, he nodded toward the door. "If you're alright, I'll just…?"

"No!" She turned to meet his gaze, willing herself not to look away. She sometimes had a terribly hard time just looking at him, the husband she wondered so much about.

"No?" He placed the candleholder on her vanity and looked curiously as she stood before him, biting her lip and opening her mouth as if to say something.

"I'm not…what I mean to say is…well, if you could—I—I'm afraid."

She watched a hint of surprise, perhaps at her boldness or even at her pleading tone, flicker in his eyes. But he nodded after a few seconds, saying "alright," very quietly as he leaned down to blow out the candle and take her hand.

He led her over to the bed, haphazardly tucking the blankets around her, before hopping up and climbing across to the other side, only inches away from her. He said nothing but shifted even closer, reaching one arm out as he settled back against the pillow. Cora had no idea if this was simply how he slept, or if this was his attempt at making her comfortable—an attempt at making them both comfortable—and so she took advantage of his position and snuggled up beside him, saying a silent prayer of thanks when his outstretched arm came to curl around her body and hold her closer to him.


	21. Pantry

_A/N: So I'll admit I read the prompt a bit too quickly and had a very different drabble written before realizing my error! ;)_

**_Imagine your OTP having a pantry raid_**

* * *

"Robert, could you please stop whispering? You're making me quite nervous."

"Cora, I am trying not to wake the staff!" He replied in an exasperated whisper.

The two had made it all the way down the main staircase, across the main hall, through the servants' door and then down toward the kitchen. And now they stood, nearly at their destination. It had been a remarkable feat, getting so far without anyone waking. Cora, at nine months pregnant and at a clear disadvantage for walking quietly, had to make several stops along the way. But on this particular evening it was not one of her cravings that had her and her husband sneaking down to the kitchen like two thieves in the night.

Oh no, on this particular evening it was Robert whose insistent pleas had drawn them out of bed. It was just before Christmas, the house cool from dropping temperatures but warm with life and excitement, and he'd sat patiently in their bedroom all evening, the smell of fresh gingerbread wafting all the way upstairs from the kitchen. Cook often made a batch in the evening to lighten her workload come morning, and on this cold, snowy evening it was an incredibly enticing aroma.

He'd made it to nearly two o'clock in the morning before giving in to a rather loud grumble of his stomach and tapping his wife on the shoulder. He knew it was a risk, for Cora was not easily woken nor was she very pleasant upon waking as of late.

But he could not go down on his own, much to her annoyance. Soon after reaching her eighth month of pregnancy, Robert decided that the best way to keep watch over her and the baby was to simply keep her with him at all times. It was winter, and so it had been easy at the start, since he did not have to venture out much. But Cora's gratefulness for his attention soon turned to a slight annoyance at his constant presence. Only just that morning she had shouted at him to get out of the washroom so she could bathe in peace. But she could not stay annoyed for very long; he looked rather like an excited child, always coming to her with ideas for the nursery, baby names (he liked Robert for a boy, naturally, and Josephine for a girl), and various questions about her health and comfort as well.

And so she had followed him down to the kitchen with only a brief scolding, knowing full well how much he wanted a biscuit and further, how much he did not want to leave her alone even for a second. She looked on with tender affection as he poured them both a glass of milk and set out a heaping plate of the fresh gingerbread biscuits. They spent the next hour indulging their cravings, Cora munching happily as Robert patted her stomach every so often and spoke directly to the bump itself—promising it that he would make sure there were plenty of biscuits for baby's first Christmas the next year.


	22. Crashing

**_Imagine your OTP having a fun day at the beach._**

They had deposited their squealing daughter with her nanny and set off on a mission. Cora had explained countless times to Mary and Robert that a trip to the beach was not a proper trip unless one procured the perfect seashell to bring home as a token of memory. Mary, being only three, had tired quickly of the hot sun and salty waves—after complaining of being sleepy, it was left to her parents to find their own token.

The two walked hand-in-hand for a while, chatting quietly as they meandered along the desolate beach. It was nearing sunset and soon they would have to turn back, but not just yet. Newport had been one of those perfect summer interludes—full of happy times and uniqueness to last them all through the coming year. It was their first trip to America since their wedding and the first time Mary had been away from Downton. After nearly two months on the Continent, both Robert and Cora agreed that it had been a good decision for everyone. Mary was growing into an independent little firebrand, ambling around the large Levinson summerhouse as if she were its owner. She left her parents in constant awe of her intelligence and stubbornness, both blessed to her in equal parts. And for Robert and Cora it had been a time of relaxation—a time where they could simply walk along a beach, hands entwined, and look for a seashell to give to their little girl. It was a simpler life than the one they were tasked with at home, and a welcome respite from the world of duty and ceremony that they were so used to.

The sun was nearly set by the time Cora saw it, the pale pink and cream-colored shell poking out of the sand just a few paces ahead. Pointing and crying out in delight, she skipped over and pulled it out, showing it off proudly to her husband.

"Well, do you think our little princess will be pleased with your choice?" Robert inquired, feigning uncertainty as he "inspected" the specimen.

"Oh, I certainly think so. And if not I shall have to pilfer one from that bowl my mother keeps in the drawing room," Cora laughed, snatching it away from him.

She giggled once more and turned to make the long walk back just as Robert swept her up into his arms, twirling her around with a flourish before setting her down and kissing her soundly. His lips tasted of the saltwater, he had after all spent much of the afternoon in the water with Mary, and when he released her she could see a soft red tint to his skin from all the sun. Standing on her tiptoes, Cora pressed her lips to his once more as her fingers twined in his dark curls and his hands found her waist. Just as her lips made contact with the warm skin of his neck, he pulled away from her once more, interrupting—

"Cora…"


	23. Waves

_A/N: The drabble prompt gods were kind to me and gave me back to back corresponding prompts! _

**_Imagine your OTP standing on the beach, letting the waves lap at their feet. Suddenly Character A splashes Character B, resulting in a huge water fight._**

* * *

"…Yes, Robert?"

Cora looked up in question but before she could inquire once more, Robert swept her up into his arms again and took off running right toward the water, despite her peals of laughter and halfhearted protestations.

"Robert Crawley, if you don't let me down I—"

Her warnings were lost to the sound of waves crashing against the shore and her husband's unguarded laughter. And before she knew it, they were more than knee-deep in cool, salty water, both laughing harder than she could ever remember them laughing. They bobbed along with the water for several minutes, Cora securely in Robert's grasp, and enjoyed the water against their lightly sunburned skin. Giggles and splashes reigned over the noise of breaking waves and they shared a few more kisses beneath the beautiful evening sky.

"Might you release me soon, Darling?" Cora finally asked, pressing a kiss to Robert's temple as they drifted closer to shore.

He nodded, a boyish grin on his face, and relaxed his hold on her, helping them both as they reached the sand and ambled away from the water. "I apologize," he said as they regained their footing, "that was most ungentlemanly of me." His mirthful expression belied his apology, but Cora found both expressions to be utterly endearing.

"It is quite alright. I did splash you quite thoroughly this afternoon. I will consider this my repayment."

Robert shook his head again, another devious grin passing across his features as he kicked up a bit of the lapping water at her. "Oh no, I've another sort of repayment in mind."

"Do you, then? And what pray tell might that be? She returned his little splash with one of her own as they strolled along, getting closer and closer to the path back to the house.

"I can't tell you," he replied evenly.

"Oh no?"

"No, for then it shan't be true repayment. You splashed me with no warning. It would not be fair for you to be expecting my next move." He chuckled to himself, clearly imagining his plan in action, and reached for her hand just as they approached the pathway back.

"Well, Lord Downton, I shall be on high alert." Cora replied, craning her body up to kiss him once again.

"I would expect nothing less, my dear."

The two made it back to the house only a handful of moments later. Mary was fast asleep and so they deposited her shell on the nightstand in her nursery, both agreeing that they could wait until morning to show her. The rest of the evening passed in a quiet, normal fashion; dinner was enjoyable as was the after dinner drink on the veranda.

But what they both found most enjoyable, however, was Robert's repayment for being splashed—a plan he enacted late that night in a candle filled bedroom with a very secure lock on the door.


	24. Couch

**_Imagine your OTP having a fight and temporarily breaking up, where person A is forced to either sleep on the couch, or leave home to find somewhere to stay for the night._**

* * *

He hadn't gone to bed the previous night, choosing instead to wander the dark halls until he found the library. He collapsed against the settee after consuming two glasses of scotch in quick succession and hurling the glass tumbler into the cold, sooty fireplace. The shattering noise it produced was not nearly as satisfying as he hoped it would be. The echo it made in the stillness of the room was not enough to blanket the gaping hole shot through his heart. He knew, even through the haze of his drink, that their lives would never feel the same.

The second night, after too many torturous hours of daylight and life, he finds himself fiddling with the door handle that connects his dressing room and their bedroom for quite some time before realizing it is locked.

He knocks, a gesture that feels remarkably foreign, but is met with silence.

It is not enough of a hint, and so he trudges out to the main hallway and clicks open the bedroom door, again confused when he finds the room already dark. He approaches the bed, reaches for the tie of his robe and wonders how on earth she could possibly sleep. Sleep seems illusive and impossible.

"Get out—"

He freezes in the middle of the room, nearly to the bed, at the sound of her voice. It sounds gravelly and low, and not at all like Cora. He doesn't have a chance to inquire further before she speaks again, her intonation so dark it sends a rush of cold through his veins.

"I don't want you in here. Please go."

"Cora, I—"

He sputters, because in that moment he knows. He knows that she blames him for what has happened. The revelation is not entirely surprising because he already blames himself. He turns and leaves the room without another word.

When she doesn't call after him, doesn't try to stop him, he wonders for the first time in their marriage if he has done irreparable damage. Whether Cora speaks to him or not, their little girl is never coming back.

His dressing room is cold and the sheets scratch against his skin. It is a fit punishment, he decides, that he should be sent off to contemplate the horrors of the last days in solitude. He should be alone when he replays the memory of his assurances that he had procured the very best doctor in all of London for her. He should be alone when the memories of their daughter gasping for breath come flooding back, too. He should have to relive it every day and every night for the rest of his life.

It is a fit room, he further decides, because it is the only place he can allow himself to cry.


	25. Kiss

_A/N: So we've reached the half-way point! And as I've already mentioned on my tumblr, I'm throwing a little contest. Send me a message on here or via tumblr with the number of your favorite drabble and whichever wins I will write a full length one-shot about. _

**_Imagine Person A blowing a kiss to Person B. Person B dodges, and runs. Person A gives chase, and makes sure that the kiss is properly received._**

* * *

They were holed up in the library, as was their newly established custom. Robert had heard two maids whispering near the servants' staircase about how Lord and Lady Downton spent more time in Lady Downton's bedroom than was proper. Not one to buck against societal customs _too much, _Robert hatched a plan that seemed to assuage the servant's gossip and his and Cora's…desires, so to speak.

It had been two months. Two months since he had located his good sense and told Cora how desperately in love with her he was. And my, oh my, had they been a glorious two months. For the first month, at least, they'd spent most of their days in Cora's room…in bed…rediscovering the things that should have been more fully explored from the start of their marriage. But at the start of month two, and the start of gossiping maids, Robert decided that they should spend more time downstairs—thus explaining their decampment to the library. His parents avoided the room like the plague, as did his sister who had caught them in a compromising position several days earlier. The room had certainly been put to very, very good use.

Cora stood, stretching out her legs, and gazed out the window. "I think I might go for a walk," she mused, taking in the beautiful sunny day.

"A walk? But—but I have not finished these letters yet," Robert practically whined, nodding down at the unfinished stack before him.

"Perhaps I'll go and when I return we can take our tea in the drawing room." Cora replied, already energized at the prospect of the fresh summer air.

"The…drawing room?" Robert screwed up his face in confusion and sighed dramatically when she began moving toward the door. "Alright then, fine. I shall see you for tea." He smiled at his beautiful wife, and in a moment of uncharacteristic enthusiasm, pressed his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss.

Cora, feeling particularly mischievous, immediately ducked her head and nearly backed right into the settee. "You've horrible aim," she laughed, dodging his second attempt as well.

Robert was never one to take a challenge lightly and so no sooner had she turned to leave once more did he take off running clear across the room. She had no time to escape his boisterous laughter and excited grasp when he bounded to her in a handful of quick steps. Knocking them both backward onto the settee, they dissolved into a fit of laughter—stopping only a few moments later when Robert leaned down to press a kiss to his wife's forehead, tenderly brushing back a stray lock of hair as well. She grinned up at him, communicating her silent thanks.

"I love you, Cora, and I would chase you to the ends of the Earth," he explained softly. And then, ever so gently, he punctuated his words with a kiss—making sure this one was properly received.


	26. Habits

**_Imagine your OTP pledging to help each other quit bad habits - i.e., I'll stop smoking if you stop chewing your fingernails - and then rapidly turning it into something that better resembles guerilla warfare._**

* * *

"ROBERT—"

He knew before Cora's shouts reached ends of the house that it had happened again. And sure enough, after bounding upstairs inwardly cursing his own forgetfulness, he found his wife standing unhappily in her bedroom, holding up a shoe that looked to be covered in dog excrement.

"Oh, Cora, I'm so sorr—"

"Don't. Don't even start, Robert. This is the second time this week. You cannot let that puppy run amuck in our home!" He knew she was past annoyed and felt lucky that she did not fling the offending shoe at him.

"I'm sorry, I'll try to do better."

"You always say that, but somehow that dog has managed to relieve herself in my bedroom half a dozen times," Cora countered, holding firm to her position.

Robert blanched. He knew she was right but he also knew how much he hated being called out for a shortcoming. When he suggested that they get a puppy he never expected that he would be in charge of it—they had servants for that. He looked down at the carpet, muttering like a scolded little boy. "You're no better…"

"Excuse me?" Cora's gaze challenged him, and his good sense was overridden by the desire to prove her wrong.

"You—you leave your sewing things all over the library!" He shouted, knowing how utterly ridiculous he sounded.

Cora's smirk only made him more annoyed, and when she further challenged him—a challenge to see who could break their "bad habit" first—he'd no choice but to say yes. And so they agreed that there would be a reward for whomever completed the task first, whether it be a trained dog or a library free of sewing baubles.

The prize she offered him for his potential victory was enticing but he knew it was a mad plan from the start. There were few things he enjoyed less than training the dog not to wee on the carpets. He followed the little thing around almost constantly for two days before secretly paying off a footman to finish the week for him. Two days later when he found Cora's sewing kit haphazardly strewn about the drawing room table, he thought for sure he had won.

But when he went upstairs to Cora's room to claim his prize later that evening, he found the very same footman he'd paid to care for the dog standing outside her door wielding an envelope. The stationary inside contained but one short statement.

_You broke the rules. You should know better by now than to try to pull the wool over my eyes. I believe I win by default. _

And so little Isis was banished to the main floor, a move that was actually much more conducive to her training each morning. And as for her master, his punishment was enacted that night as he was forced to watch his wife complete her needlework without a stitch of clothing on, looking but most certainly not touching.

His punishment lasted for roughly seven minutes before they both caved in to bad habits of an entirely different sort.


	27. River

**_Imagine person A of your OTP jumping into a river to save a drowning child and passing them out to person B_**

* * *

Cora had wanted to cancel the garden party that year. Sybil having only been born two months before had put a bit of a dampener on the planning process. But it was, as Robert insisted, tradition. And so Cora allowed the plans to move forward, regardless of how busy her days and the staff's days already were.

The day of the party it was uncharacteristically sunny, not a cloud to be found in the sky. The servants had gone out incredibly early to pitch the tents and set out plate upon plate of beautiful china and the delicate glass stemware. By the time Robert and the rest of the family ambled outside, they were just slightly late for the festivities. It had been a battle for Cora and the nanny to get Mary and Edith into their crisp white party dresses and even as they made their way onto the lawn he could see the little girls bickering in the corner of his eye. He supposed it would be best to just let them argue it out, as he and his sister had done so many years before.

The afternoon passed in a blur of champagne and merriment; Robert spent much of the day just a few paces from his wife and baby daughter, doting on them with the affection of a particularly proud new father. He was already congratulating himself on a day well executed when the sound of his middle daughter's tiny voice cut through the party music and made his stomach lurch. He saw her in the distance, her pink hair ribbons flapping in the summer wind as her small legs ran through the tall green grass. He took off running in her direction as she continued to shout for them; Cora, after depositing Sybil with the nanny, was only a few paces behind him.

"Papa…Mary, she tripped by the stream. I think she's hurt, Papa!"

Robert scooped Edith up into his arms and ran in the direction of the stream that he'd told them to stay away from countless times before. The small wooden bridge was unstable and he'd been meaning to have it torn down for months now. He tried to focus only on the path ahead of him as Edith's anxious chatter and Cora's shouts for him to hurry only broke his concentration.

And then like a horror ripped straight from his very worst nightmares, Mary came into view. She was hanging onto a large rock that jutted right out of the water beyond the riverbank. Her face was twisted into an expression of extreme fright and when her dark eyes locked on his he knew she was just barely holding on.

He set Edith down on the grassy hill and jumped into the water, swimming frantically for his daughter. She was not very far out, and perhaps could have made the swim herself, but Robert knew he would never quite forget the fervor with which she grasped onto his shoulders when he reached her. They made it back to shore moments later, and he passed Mary out to her mother, who had held remarkable control over her emotions. That is until she held Mary, at which point both Crawley women began to cry.

Robert scooped Edith back up and leaned over to press a kiss to Mary's forehead, knowing two things with absolute certainty: the bridge would be torn down in the morning and that they had very narrowly escaped a quite dangerous situation.


	28. Body

**_Imagine your OTP so comfortable with each other's bodies that they don't mind helping with embarrassing or gross problems. Instead, it only makes them fall harder, because they're both grateful._**

* * *

"What _are _you doing?" Cora inquired, stepping into the washroom more fully.

She had been waiting in bed for nearly half an hour when she decided to investigate what exactly Robert was up to. And she found him most unceremoniously hunched before the looking glass by the sink inspecting the skin on his neck and arms. He whipped around at the sound of her voice and looked sheepishly at her, straightening up and clearing his throat.

"I was, er, looking at my neck. It seems I was outdoors for too long and burned my skin." He gestured down at his shoulders which were in fact tinted an angry shade of red. "It's most uncomfortable when I try to put my pajamas on."

"And you thought inspecting the affliction would help?" Cora asked, an amused smile playing at her lips.

Again he looked sheepishly at her. "Well, not really…" He peered down and reached for something out of the sink—a jar of her favorite cream. "I was applying some cream to the area."

"Ah, I see," Cora replied evenly. She crossed the room and smiled, taking the jar from his hands and beckoning him out of the room. When they made it back into the dimly lit bedroom she nodded at the bed, waiting for him to lie down.

He did as he was told, somewhat curiously, and began to lay down, wincing as his back hit the cool sheets.

"Turn onto your stomach," Cora leaned down to whisper in his ear. Doing again as he was told, Robert rolled gently until his stomach was pressed flush against the bed. A few seconds later he heard his wife unscrew the top to the jar of cream and felt her apply some of the cool mixture to his shoulders, rubbing ever so gently.

"How does that feel?" She asked after a while.

"It feels lovely, but Cora you needn't do that—"

"I like to help you, darling, as you've helped me many times." She smiled, though he could not see it from his position, and continued to apply the cream to his burned skin with as light pressure as she could manage. When she had tended to her husband, she pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and released him, allowing him to roll back over so she could help him with his pajamas.

"Better?"

"Much. But, darling?" Robert grinned, reaching for the discarded jar beside him.

"Yes, Robert?" Cora knew that smile anywhere, but feigned ignorance as he unscrewed the top.

"It's only fair that I return the favor, don't you think?"

Cora giggled as his hands encircled her waist, pulling her atop him. Sleep was not soon in coming as he did return the favor, several times in fact. When they did finally fall asleep several hours later, it was to the oil lamps burned low and the smell of Cora's lavender hand cream lingering in the air.


	29. Teething

**_Imagine your OTP's baby teething, keeping them up all night with his/her cries, and the entire family trying various ways to put him/her to sleep._**

* * *

They had been given a laundry list of recommendations for how to keep little Sybil from crying throughout the night. The nanny recommended a nip of clove oil rubbed over her gums in the evening and mornings. One of the maids—who said she grew up with six brothers and sisters—suggested a bit of ice pressed against her cheek would likely do the trick. And Violet had helpfully explained that the best solution for them all would be to have Sybil moved to a room father away from their bedrooms so that they could simply not hear her pitiful little cries. But none of these seemed to be a viable option, as Cora was intent to see her through the worst of the teething herself. So, night after night the family was roused from peaceful slumber as Cora rocked and made futile attempts to soothe their daughter.

It was two weeks into the living nightmare when Cora finally reached a breaking point. Robert found her in the washroom, lying back in the tub with Sybil pressed to her chest. Both Crawley women were crying rather fitfully.

"She won't stop, Robert. I cannot make her stop crying," Cora managed to choke out over her tears. The baby seemed inspired by her mother's cries, and screeched louder as Robert approached them. He, too, was at his wit's end—but he was not willing to concede defeat to Sybil just yet. So, reaching for a towel set beside the tub, he leaned down and extracted the squalling child from Cora's arms, wrapping her in the fabric to dry her off. She continued to cry, only momentarily pausing to peek up at her father, and Robert quickly removed her from the washroom so Cora could have a moment to collect herself.

Reconvening in the bedroom, Cora emerged a few minutes later looking utterly exhausted. She eyed the baby wearily and then looked apologetically at her husband. "Perhaps your mother is right. Clearly I'm not fit to care for her; we can't all go on like this. The girls are being woken each night and we've not slept properly for months."

Robert nodded in agreement (they certainly could not continue on as they had been) but deposited Sybil in her cradle beside the bed. "Let me try something? I had a thought this morning and I'd like to give it a go."

Cora, though skeptical, watched as her husband exited the room and returned a handful of moments later carrying a damp washcloth in his hands.

"I had Mrs. Patmore put this in the freezer early this morning. I thought—" He paused, turning his attention to Sybil as he kneeled down and placed the towel in the little girl's curious hands, "I thought she might chew on this."

Both parents watched in near amazement as Sybil fixed her gaze on the cool rag and began to gum on it, her cries turning to whimpers and then to soft coos in only a matter of seconds. Cora would have cried out in joy if she were not so utterly terrified of setting Sybil off once more. She settled on celebrating in a different way, falling into bed with her husband and enjoying the beautiful silence of the room. It was only a temporary fix, of course, but it did allow the very exhausted family a night of almost completely uninterrupted sleep—something all the Crawleys were extremely grateful for.


	30. Rome

**_Imagine your OTP going on a vacation in a country where they don't know the language, getting lost and having to use botched spoken and sign language to get back to their hotel. They crash into the bed and fall asleep snuggling, laughing and relieved to be off their feet._**

* * *

"Cora, that mass was like a gymnastics meet; I don't know how you managed to keep from laughing." Robert flopped back onto the bed in their well-appointed room with a chuckle. He did not consider himself a particularly religious man, but after sitting through that he felt somewhat grateful that Cora only forced him to attend church at home every other Sunday.

She laughed at him, amused, as she removed her earrings and necklace and turned to face him a handful of seconds later. "When are you going to admit that all you want is to go back to Downton?" She replied, a note of teasing still evident in her voice.

Robert grunted back, having already closed his eyes, and waited until his wife was in bed beside him before rolling to face her. "I quite like our trips, darling." He smiled mischievously and pulled her close to him, his large hands coming to rest on her hips.

"No," Cora giggled, "you pretend not to mind all the traipsing around and foreign cuisine and hot climate all because you love your darling wife." She punctuated her words with a kiss, twining her fingers through her husband's hair.

"I daresay you may be correct," Robert answered, his words strung together with kisses planted on the soft skin of Cora's neck. He had nearly forgotten all about the tedious mass, the blisters on his feet, and his desire for a strong cup of tea when Cora smiled once more and rolled back over, putting at least an arms length between them.

He watched incredulously as she said goodnight and then proceeded to close her eyes, apparently intent on sleep.

"Cora?" He ventured.

"…Yes?" She replied softly, blinking her eyes open once more.

"Are you…going to sleep?"

"No, I am attempting to learn French," she answered, rolling her eyes playfully. "Yes, I am going to sleep."

"But we were just—I mean, that is to say, I thought we were going to…" He trailed off, both baffled and slightly embarrassed by the situation. He already felt a bit hot under the collar, and did not particularly want sleep just yet.

"Oh no, we can't do that tonight, darling."

"Why ever not?"

"Because, you'll need to conserve your stamina for tomorrow. I've planned an all day walking tour of the city."

And with that, Cora kissed him once more—though this time on his forehead—before leaning over to turn off her lamp. Robert, having been soundly rejected in any sort of amorous pursuit, chose instead to close his eyes and dream of the day he might be back at Downton and in the arms of his wife. The gelato he'd sampled earlier in the day was not nearly as enticing as Cora, after all.


	31. Letters

**Imagine your OTP sending love letters to each other while being separated for months.**

* * *

_Robert darling,_

_I suppose my other letters will not reach you much before this one does, but you know how difficult it is for me to go even a day without addressing something, if even an envelope, to you. I miss you so terribly much, my darling husband, and I only hope that this letter will find you safe. _

_The girls are growing by leaps and bounds, Robert. Mary has been diligently practicing her needlework with me in the mornings and I've considered starting Edith on piano lessons. And Sybil is just a darling. She looks like you, I think; her eyes are the very same shade of blue as yours are and sometimes when I rock her to sleep at night even just looking into her eyes makes me miss you a bit less. It seems like such a short time ago that the doctors handed her to me, red-faced and squalling at the top of her lungs. And now here she is nearly two years old. Oh Robert, how I wish you were here to see them. They're growing up so wonderfully; Mary and Edith ask for you constantly and, as always, I have included their letters to you in the package with mine. _

_Robert, I want you to promise me—again—that you'll come home safely. I have just received an invitation in the mail for Lady Dufferen's annual summer ball and I can scarcely imagine going without you. It was after all at that very same ball we met a little more than a decade ago. I do not think I shall be able to go without you there to lead me around the dance floor. And it certainly would not be as exciting as it was last year when we attended. Sometimes I still dream of the way you looked at me from across the room, how you lead me down that back hallway and into the dark library. I shan't continue my musings anymore, at the risk of scandalizing you, darling, but I will just say that you made it a most memorable evening as you always do. I miss you so much. _

_All my love, always._

_Cora._

* * *

_My dear Cora,_

_I received your letters, darling. Thank you for writing me with such frequency. And I solemnly promise I say that without a trace of irony whatsoever—my days are brightened considerably even just at the thought of receiving one of your notes. Thank you for telling me about the girls and the things they get up to. Please give them each a kiss for me, even Mary who insisted in her last letter to me that she was too grown up for kisses hello. _

_You know I have little time to write, my darling, but I write you with the hope that I may soon learn when my time here will be over. You shall be the very first to know. And Cora, dear, your last letter stirred in me some memories that we shall no doubt have to reenact upon my return. I will attempt to remain a gentleman, though it can be rather hard when I am surrounded by army men nearly all the time, and say simply that you are what gets me through the long days and even longer nights. I love you, darling._

_All my regards,_

_Robert. _


	32. Fight

**Imagine your OTP getting into a food fight. After they finally finish, they decide to take a playful bubble bath together to cleanup.**

* * *

Dinner had been a quiet affair. Violet had elected to dine at the Dower House, having just been at Downton the night before, and the girls were uncharacteristically subdued. Robert smiled at his three little darlings, all speaking in hushed tones at the other end of the table. He and Cora had allowed all three of them to dine with the adults lately, as Cora insisted they were all old enough to begin learning proper dining etiquette. He silently praised himself for raising such well-behaved children and turned back to Cora to continue their conversation.

He was midway through his raspberry tart—and explaining to Cora the latest goings on with various tenants on the farms—when, seemingly out of no where, he was pelted right in the face with a raspberry. Too stunned to speak, he watched as Cora's mouth dropped open and then watched as she began giggling uncontrollably, reaching out with the corner of her serviette to wipe some errant berry juice from his forehead.

Standing, he glowered, and looked down at his three girls. Mary was sitting primly with pursed lips and an averted gaze. Edith was staring down at her shoes and looked whiter than a sheet. And Sybil, well, Sybil peeked up at him, and ventured a smile.

"Sorry Papa," her bright six-year-old voice squeaked. "Mary bet me that I couldn't make the berry go all the way across the room into that vase…" She paused, pointing a small finger at the decorative vase behind his seat, "but I told her I've been practicing cricket with Patrick and I have good aim."

He remained silent, looking down at Sybil's berry stained hands and listening to Cora's desperate attempts at silencing her giggles. "Well," he replied finally, "I suppose it is only fair if I do this, then—" He reached down to his own place and picked up his serviette, balling it up and hurling it at his youngest daughter.

Sybil gasped, but began laughing excitedly, picking up a few more berries off her plate and throwing them in the general direction of her father. Before long, all the Crawleys were embroiled in a very heated battle as berries flew through the air.

After several minutes of what was perhaps one of the most exciting interludes the dining room had ever seen, Robert captured his tiny opponent right as she was about to hurl her serviette his way. Swooping her up into his arms he grinned widely, kissing her forehead.

"You are my darling daughter, and I love you, but if you ever tell Granny about this, you will never be allowed to leave the nursery again," he chuckled.

Sybil reached up to pluck a piece of berry from his hair and nodded, kissing his cheek as he released her from his arms. "I promise Papa."

Robert and Cora watched as their girls were collected by the bewildered nanny and ushered upstairs for baths.

"You're an absolute mess," Cora laughed, taking in his disheveled clothes and hair.

Robert smiled, weaving his fingers through his wife's as they headed upstairs behind the children. "Perhaps you can help me with my bath time?" He asked, grinning mischievously.

"Of course, darling. But you'll have to make room for me in there. I believe I am in desperate need of a bath as well." Cora winked at her husband, and led him off in the direction of their bedroom, eager to reward him for his uncharacteristic display of utterly adorable childish amusement.


	33. Walk

**_Imagine Person B of your OTP telling Person A they like someone, which instantly makes Person A sad, but wants Person B to be happy. Person A encourages Person B to confess and Person B does so to Person A._**

* * *

"I suppose it might be impertinent of me to do so, but may I confess something, Lord Downton?"

Robert nodded and took in the conflicted expression of his walking companion. He and Miss Levinson had strolled around Hyde Park for nearly an hour, chatting amiably under the summer clouds. Nearly a half hour into their stroll, and after a minor misstep that nearly landed her in a flower bush, Miss Levinson had curled her hand around his proffered arm and they'd been walking like that ever since.

This marked the sixth afternoon that Robert had called on her, and their third walk through Hyde Park as well. He wondered, with more than vague curiosity, what she could possibly want to confess to him.

Cora cleared her throat and looked up at the man whose arm steadied her so. Stopping their walk completely, she weighed her words before answering; "You see I find myself having developed a rather strong attachment to someone since I arrived in London."

In an effort to steady her nerves, Cora looked away and stepped forward, restarting their walk as she waited for a response. Robert was decidedly shocked by her forthright words. He had assumed, perhaps too soon, that he and Cora were nearly engaged. He saw his dreams of saving Downton, and dreams of waking each morning to her bright blue eyes, slipping away in the summer breeze.

But ever the gentleman, Robert continued their walk, clearing his own throat as he prepared an answer. "Perhaps you should tell the object of your attachment; you shan't know your prospects, otherwise."

"And if he does not fancy me?" Cora asked, tilting her head up to him.

"Well then he is a bloody foo—" Robert interrupted his own admission with a hearty cough, attempting to cover his impetuous words. He was grateful that Miss Levinson pretended not to hear his uncouth language, and hoped they could continue the walk with relative ease, as it was likely to be their last one.

"He isn't a fool," Cora replied after a time, not daring to look up at the man beside her.

Robert sighed softly, wishing he were more diplomatic and wishing he'd not formed his own strong attachment to the woman beside him. "You must tell him, then."

"Alright," Cora replied, stopping abruptly. She looked up at him, adjusting the brim of her hat so that she could see him clearly. "Lord Downton, I think very highly of you and seem to have formed a rather embarrassingly strong attachment to you."

Robert tried not to gape at her and grinned widely, caring not in the slightest that his face had turned a rather unfortunate shade of red. "Well," he answered, "I am most flattered, Miss Levinson—"

"Perhaps you could call me Cora, then?" She entreated.

Robert hesitated, but nodded in agreement when he saw the excitement dancing across her face. And so he offered her his arm once more, intent on finishing his walk with _Cora, _so that he could get home and decide just what to say when he wrote her father asking Mr. Levinson's permission for her hand in marriage.


	34. Dolls

_A/N: So, this prompt was strange. I really kind of disliked it. So the drabble is short. _

**_Imagine your OTP getting stuffed Animals and naming them after each other._**

* * *

"Robert, what _are _those?" Cora frowned, walking into their bedroom, and peered at two dolls sitting on the bed beside her husband.

Robert frowned as well, looking up from his book. "Those are the dolls that I purchased for Mary in London. I tried to give them to her and she told me that they were ugly and she did not want them." He picked one up and inspected it. "I did not realize dolls could be ugly."

"They are a bit odd looking, actually." Cora picked them up from the bed and tossed them onto the bedside table. "What are you going to do with them?"

Robert shrugged. "Mary said she doesn't like them. Perhaps give them to one of the tenants with children? They've traveled all the way from London, we must give them a proper home," he laughed.

"Yes, quite right. Or we could name them Robert and Cora and keep them in here?" She laughed, settling into bed and curling up beside her husband.

"—Perhaps not," he replied, turning to pull her more fully into his embrace. "I shall divest myself of them in the morning; there is only room for one Robert and Cora in this bedroom." He laughed again and pulled Cora into his arms, using his free hand to slide the dolls off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He was interested in playing a different game entirely, and it certainly did not have anything to do with dolls.

The next morning, Robert rolled out of bed rather early. He swung his legs out from under the blankets but just as he stood he felt a sharp point against the bottom of his foot. "Ouch," he muttered, looking down to see that he had just accidentally stepped on one of the dolls. Mary and Cora had both been right. In the light of day he saw more clearly that these dolls were not exactly as nice as the others Mary had in her nursery. And what's more, the heel of his foot had accidentally just flattened "Little Robert's" face. He picked it up, looked and it and rolled his eyes, vowing to leave the toy purchasing to Cora in future.


	35. Thriller

**_Imagine your Person A is reading a mystery thriller __and just as it gets to a really tense scary bit, B (either by accident or on purpose) makes them jump with a shriek and freak out, much to B's amusement._**

* * *

Robert settled into bed, eager to pick up his novel from the night before. It was the latest work by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and after following the series as it was printed in the newspaper a year or so before, Robert had been most excited to find a published copy on a recent trip to London. He'd not gotten very far into the novel the previous night, but as he cracked open _The Hound of the Baskervilles _and relocated his page, he felt a tingle of excitement to delve back in. It was as though time faded away as he grew more engrossed in the plot and though only ten minutes had actually passed, Robert was completely unaware to the fact that his wife was not yet in the room.

Turning the page—just before one of the culminating murder scenes, Robert drew his knees up to his chest and rested the book against his legs, just as he had done when reading as a little boy. He was nearly biting his nails with anticipation (though quite sure he had already figured out the more intricate details of the crime) when Cora burst through his dressing room with an emphatic, _"Robert!"_

Robert jumped up in such surprise that not only was his book tossed aside; he fell clear out of bed. Jumbled up in a mess of sheets and quilt, Robert's legs were rather unfortunately twisted up and so his attempt to stand a moment later failed as well. He succeeded only in falling on his behind for a second time. When he did finally manage to extricate himself from the tangles, he stood and took in his wife's amused expression. Cora was never particularly good at concealing her emotions and so he was not entirely surprised to see her giggling madly, one hand covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

"It isn't nice to laugh at someone who's injured," he muttered, gathering up the blankets and settling himself back into bed with a huff.

Cora stifled another giggled and moved toward her side of the bed, straightening out their quilt as she did so. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry. But what on Earth caused that little failed display of bedroom gymnastics?"

"Nothing," he grumbled, turning onto his side away from her. "And it wasn't funny!" He added stubbornly, quite like a child.

Cora, who was nearly always even keeled, only brushed off his sharp tone and rolled her eyes. Settling into bed and sliding over to her husband, Cora wrapped an arm protectively around his middle and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "I'm sorry for laughing," she murmured soothingly, pepping a few more gentle kisses to his skin, "are you alright?"

He nodded, adding a stubborn grunt, but did reach a hand up to twine his fingers with hers. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied a few moments later when it was clear she was waiting for a full response.

"You're quite sure?" She replied. "I'll kiss it and make it better if you're not."

"…You will?" He replied; though his back was still to her, a silly grin had begun to paint across his face at the prospect.

"Of course," she answered.

Robert, whose resolve had been slipping since the moment she wrapped her arms around him, turned back to face his wife and revealed a grin. Kissing her lips, he chuckled softly and then leaned his head down to whisper in her ear precisely where he had fallen and was in need of a kiss to make it better.


	36. Christmas

**_Imagine your OTP decorating their Christmas tree together. Person A is extremely picky with decorating, and likes to have it look a certain way, and all person B can do is laugh at person A's behavior and help as much as he/she can, because they think its adorable_**

* * *

Cora entered the library holding a box full of brightly colored Christmas ornaments. She had just come from the main hall where she found her eldest daughter sulking; and after Mary's explanation as to why exactly she was upset, Cora felt she had to do a bit of inquiring.

"Robert?" She called, looking around the library for her husband. Carson had told her that she would find Robert at his desk, but looking around all she saw was Pharaoh lounging by the fireplace. She was just about to turn around and check the drawing room when she heard a muffled _"Cora?" _in response.

Robert popped his head up from behind the table in the very corner of the room. He looked to be perturbed about something, as a light frown was etched into his brow and his hair was slightly mussed from being under a desk. "What is it, Cora?" He repeated, crossing the room and looking at his wife curiously.

Cora pursed her lips, debating between asking what on Earth he was up to and inquiring about her original issue. She chose the latter; as she was not sure she really wanted to know what he was doing on the floor in the middle of the afternoon. "Robert, Mary tells me you won't allow her to put these colored ornaments on the Christmas tree. Certainly she misunderstood you?"

She could tell by his abashed expression that Mary had misunderstood nothing.

"Well—I did not tell her she couldn't, exactly. I—I simply explained to her the importance of tradition and how at Downton that means every year we use the gold ornaments on the Christmas tree…" He trailed off and focused on a pull in the carpet, brushing at it with the toe of his shoe.

"You told our four year old daughter that she could not put colored ornaments on the tree?" Cora frowned in slight disbelief.

"Cora! The colored ones aren't the ones we always use," he whined. "But now it doesn't matter," he muttered, gesturing with one hand toward the cabinet in the corner. "Usually the ornaments are stored in there, but they are nowhere to be found."

"I had the servants bring them up to the attics last week," Cora answered. She held up a hand to silence her husband, who was just about to protest, and continued, "Robert, they were terribly old and fragile. And more than that, they had hideous little designs on them. I chose these new ones in London because I wanted Mary to be able to help us decorate the tree this year. Will you really deny me and your daughter the pleasure of that?" She looked at him skeptically as he continued to play at the pull in the rug.

"…No…" he murmured in response after a moment.

"What was that?" Cora questioned, holding up the box of new ornaments before him in question.

Robert sighed, his gaze rising from the carpet and back to his wife. "I said no, Cora. I wouldn't dream of standing between you and Mary decorating the tree." And with that, he took the proffered box in one arm and Cora's hand with his other.

He was still not entirely pleased with this new tradition, and knew his mother would have a fit when she found out, but when he saw the utter delight on his daughter's face as she decorated the tree with her parents, he knew it was absolutely worth it.


	37. Baby

**_Imagine your OTP being woken up in the middle of the night by their baby crying. Person A is usually the one to take care of the child during the night but Person B can see how tired they are and kisses their forehead before telling them to go back to sleep and getting up to take care of the baby._**

* * *

_"Cora," _Robert muttered, still half-asleep, "baby's awake."

When he received no response from her, and heard another insistent knock on their bedroom door, he nudged her shoulder a bit harder, saying "Cora," again as he did so. It was quite dark in their bedroom so late at night, but when Cora stirred awake a few seconds later, drawn from sleep by his nudges, he could tell even without seeing her face that she was displeased.

"Why yes," she muttered under her breath. "The baby is awake again. Fancy that." He felt her roll out of bed and pull the covers back in one turn. Trudging across the floor, he listened until she opened the bedroom door, inviting a sliver of light from the hallway into their room, and took a squalling Mary from the nurse's arms.

Robert attempted to close his eyes again as Cora returned to bed with the baby—for there was not all that much he could do to help with this particular task—but he was kept up by the rhythmic sucking noises Mary made as she nursed just a few inches from his head. He tossed and turned a few times; well perhaps more than a few, as Cora sighed in annoyance after the third turn, but was unable to get comfortable.

When Mary finished nursing a handful of moments later, he thought he would finally be successful but still, sleep would not come. Robert listened once more as Cora patted their daughter's back, and he listened as the baby let out a soft burp after a moment. He felt Cora sit up more fully, likely to get up and put Mary into her bassinet, but just as she moved, Mary began to cry again.

And to Robert's utter bewilderment, Cora began to cry as well.

"Darling?" He said, sitting up and attempting to light the candle on his bedside table. But Cora only cried harder, choking out "I…am…so…tired," between sobs.

Getting up out of bed, as sleep was certainly not on the horizon now, Robert crossed the room and took Mary from his wife's arms before she could protest the matter. Leaning down, and balancing Mary with one arm, he pressed a kiss to Cora's forehead and said simply, "sleep."

Cora continued to cry, but replied, "thank you," in a quiet whisper as she wiped at her eyes and watched her husband smile, disappearing into his dressing room with their fussy baby.

Robert, for his part, was only slightly concerned at having Mary all on his own. She was nearly four months old, so more solid than she had been at birth, but he was still terrified to make a mistake. The safest course of action seemed to be to relax atop the small dressing room bed, with Mary in his arms. He rocked her, murmuring in a low voice to sooth her, and told her all about the estate and his plans for the coming day. She fell asleep pressed to his chest, and when he awoke a few hours later, she was still fast asleep in much the same fashion.

He couldn't think of a more wonderful way to wake up.


	38. Naked

_A/N: There seems to be an influx of young Cora and Robert in our Cobert universe this week! Which I love, because they're extra adorable when they are young. :)_

**Imagine your OTP seeing each other naked for the first time, and both being a bit nervous.**

* * *

He looked down at his hands and was surprised to find them shaking. It wouldn't do to have shaky hands at a time like this. But looking at the bottle of scotch stowed on his dressing room cabinet, he knew that would be no good either. He could not very well go to his new bride's bed smelling of alcohol. His mind seemed to be a jumbled mess of images—all brief instances of the day replaying in his mind. There was the moment he woke up, the eternity it seemed as Cora walked down the church aisle toward him, and then, much later, the way she blushed at him before excusing herself from the dwindling festivities to get ready for bed.

He'd stayed, of course, as was customary. He had another drink with his father and cousins and endured some good-natured ribbing about what was about to happen. He realized, sometime through the conversation, that all the men—his father included—seemed to think he had already experienced this particular life-event already.

He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.

There had been opportunities, of course, the most recent being during the season when he went out for a particularly raucous night with his cousin James. He was not exactly sure how he'd managed to live through nineteen years without bedding a single woman (his friends made it seem as though they took a new woman to bed each night) but nevertheless here he was, already incredibly nervous.

He clicked open the door and was surprised to find the room completely dark.

"Cora?" He ventured, half-wondering if she'd fallen asleep.

"Yes?" She replied, her voice without a trace of sleep.

"Do you…I mean, could you perhaps turn your lamp back on?"

She said nothing but the room was bathed in the soft glow of her oil lamp a few seconds later. It took a brief pause for his eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did he nearly passed out right on the spot.

Cora, he realized, was not wearing a stitch of clothing. The tops of her pale shoulders protruded from above the sheets and he could tell by her expression that she was trying desperately to make sure the blanket she clung to covered her sufficiently.

He crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed, fiddling with his nightshirt as he spoke. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable," he said softly, afraid if he looked at her he would lose all good sense.

"Nor I, you," she replied.

He winced, knowing that his lack of eye contact made her self-conscious. Turning to her tentatively, he leaned close and kissed her lips. He knew his presence unnerved her; he clung to the hope that someday his presence in her room would be natural, that someday she would not give it a second thought.

And before he knew it, wrapped up in a haze of nerves and wonder and excitement, they were both lying in bed completely nude, gazing curiously—almost studiously—at one another before doing what they both knew needed to be done.

In the morning, when he blinked his eyes open in an unfamiliar room with Cora asleep beside him, it felt a bit surreal. So, just to verify that it was not simply the most wonderful dream of his entire life, Robert lifted the sheets very carefully and peeked beneath.

He grinned widely upon learning it was all even better in the light of morning.


	39. Serenade

**Imagine Person A of your OTP serenading Person B on their anniversary, and yet Person A is not the best singer, Person B doesn't care, because it is still a sweet gesture.**

* * *

He is certain that he would rather listen to Cora's soft, honeyed voice than be forced to endure the sound of his own; his voice is rougher, and unable to hit the notes that pass through her lips so easily. But on the night of their anniversary, celebrating six years, two children, and a near-perfect life together, he promised to give her whatever she wanted.

Song was not on the list he'd mentally drawn of all the things she might ask for. When he'd entered their bedroom after finally extricating himself from the nursery—having been coerced into reading not one but three bedtime stories to their charming daughters—he'd arrived with images of silken nightwear and requests for things of a far more adult nature.

Cora, though, had been stood at the window, gazing out and basking in the cool night air. When she beckoned him over, pointing at the beautifully clear sky and bright moon he could look only at the dreamy expression on her face, not the twinkling stars in the sky. And so when she finally turned to face him, wearing a peaceful smile, and asked softly if he might sing to her like he used to, well, how could he refuse?

It was, he knew, utterly impossible to refuse her anything. So drawing her into his arms, her head nestled into the hollow below his chin, he began to hum verses of long-forgotten tunes, eventually interspersing his hums with soft words.

He sung only her favorites, songs they'd hummed together during tentative walks in the early days of their marriage and then later on to soothe their newborn daughters. He'd grown as fond of them as Cora, over time, but would be loath to admit just how much raw affection their melodies could stir in him. But he was not unwilling to admit that, again, Cora seemed to know exactly what they both needed. For as he held his wife securely in his arms, Robert was perfectly happy to let their blissful union float along on the words of others, leaving them nothing else to do beyond sway along in quiet contentment.

_Oh, promise me that someday you and I _

_Will take our love together to some sky _

_Where we may be alone and faith renew, _

_And find the hollows where those flowers grew, _

_Those first sweet violets of early spring, _

_Which come in whispers, thrill us both, and sing _

_Of love unspeakable that is to be; _

_Oh, promise me! Oh, promise me!_

* * *

_A/N: The lyrics are from the 1889 song "Oh Promise Me" by Clement Scott. _


	40. Fire

**Imagine your OTP's house is burning and they each have to grab their most prized possession.**

* * *

Robert awoke to the sound of his father shouting. But what he thought was certainly a dream soon became a startling reality when he realized the words being shouted up and down the halls were _fire. _Hopping up out of bed he threw open his dressing room door only to see his father directing various members of staff who were frantically removing some of the more priceless pieces of art from the walls.

"Robert, there is a fire in the kitchen—get anything priceless out of your room and get outside now; Cora's maid has already woken her," his father called.

Now fully awake but in an utter state of panic, Robert turned on his heels and rushed back into his dressing room. There were gold cufflinks somewhere around and a set of leather-bound novels he loved but nothing seemed important enough to search for. Forgetting the odds and ends in his dressing room completely, Robert flung open the door to Cora's bedroom and saw that she was in fact already awake as well.

It was rather odd to see his new wife in such a state.

"Robert, my rings—I cannot find my wedding rings," she explained, tearing through her drawers. Several of her cabinets had already been rummaged through and there were various garments hanging out haphazardly.

It took him but a split second to rush back into action, the shouts of his father and mother's voice still ringing outside the doorway. Lifting Cora up off the ground in one swoop, he made sure she was securely in his arms before running out of the room. She yelled for him to go back, so she could find her rings, but quieted when she realized he was already halfway out of the house.

They stood together on the front lawn, side by side, as servants carried out paintings, vases, and other trinkets his mother had ordered them to. Robert watched as his mother tried to maintain her composure, a difficult task given the fact that she was in her dressing gown and nightcap, and Cora watched her father in law speak in hushed tones with the butler, trying to ascertain the specifics of the situation.

The fire, it turned out, was confined to the kitchens and was thanks to a new footman who had decided to try his hand at making some tea after everyone else had turned in for the evening. Everything was rather unceremoniously ordered back inside and Cora and Robert stood on the great lawn overseeing the process. His mother had managed to amass a great deal of their possessions outside for safekeeping.

"Your father told us to bring what was most important," Cora mused, still watching as the servants carried large paintings past her. She and Robert were both without so much as a single trinket.

"I did," he replied simply.


	41. Gone

**_Imagine person A of your OTP has been dead for a long time. Since their funeral, Person B would visit their grave as much as possible, if not everyday. Person B would talk to Person A's gravestone casually about their day, how they're feeling, etc., as if they were still there. When Person B finishes talking, they smile and say "See you soon" before they leave._**

* * *

She placed the flowers before the stone, an offering of her love. The bouquet was small, as winter's grasp had only just given way to spring, but she couldn't bear to go empty handed. She needed something to busy her hands when they began to shake, as they always did.

She wiped away the errant morning dew and traced her fingers over the familiar words engraved in the dark rock. She'd memorized them quickly, knew the way the embossed script looped and curled to come together and represent everything her husband had been in just a few words.

_Earl_

_Father_

_Husband_

_Beloved._

Two years had come and pass—it was no easier, not that she ever imagined it would grow to be. Waking up in her strange, foreign room in the Dower House was not easy but it was preferable to sleeping in her old bedroom, waking up to find that she'd been clawing desperately at his pillow yet again, crying out his name and waking the entire house. Looking at his place at the dinner table—his empty place—it was more painful than walking across a pit of glass. And falling asleep each night, alone with no more than a blanket to envelope herself in, well, it was a poor, cruel substitute for her husband's strong arms and masculine scent.

And coming here, walking methodically to the cemetery each morning, it hurt her heart in the very same way. It was true, she mused, that April was the cruelest month; how could she be expected to carry on, to regenerate like spring, when her husband was gone? How could she admire the beauty of the green grass and flowers when he was buried beneath it all?

In truth it grew more difficult. Everyone else began to live again. More grandchildren were born, family members married, and everyone kindly pretended that they did not see when they caught her crying in the drawing room or staring absently out onto the lawn, looking at the paths they once walked together.

But there was no use thinking of it at great length. Two years had taught her that. Nothing, no ocean of tears or desperate prayers whispered late at night would ever replace what was taken. Nothing could replace her beloved husband, her children's father, her sweet, darling Robert.

And so, reaching for a handkerchief to pass over her pale cheeks, Cora did all that she could. Keeping with her routine, she murmured _"I love you, my darling," _and knelt down to press her lips to the top of the stone, soon turning to return home and move through the rest of her day as best she could manage.


	42. Places

**_Imagine Person A of your OTP taking Person B to their favorite secret spot_**

* * *

"Cora, I hesitate to remind you, darling, but I have lived here my entire life," Robert laughed, following his wife along one of the more secluded corridors of the east wing. Cora had found him in the library earlier that morning, a mischievous grin planted on her face as she explained her latest _'discovery' _to him.

Already a year into her residency at Downton, Cora still managed to get lost in the house when she wandered off to the uninhabited sections or upstairs to root around the attics. Each time it happened she would return slightly dusty, her hair mussed, and with a story of what she'd happened upon.

This time was no different and as she led him down the hall, he couldn't help but want to indulge her. She would not say what precisely she'd found, but she did seem particularly excited about this exploration. And very soon, after wandering up another staircase, he realized why.

Cora opened a door midway down the hall and gestured for him to follow her in. The room was papered with a delicate rosebud print and the soft color of the carpet was reflected in the window treatments and décor as well. There was an old wooden rocking horse in one corner and an ornate cradle in the other. He recognized it as Rosamund's old nursery immediately, and his curiousity as to why they'd walked all that way soon melted into vague understanding. The look of utter delight on Cora's face made him rather breathless, and when she grinned even wider, prompting, "look, Robert," he thought he might need a glass of water.

He took her hands, almost oblivious to their surroundings and pulled her close. "Cora, are—are you…?" He trailed off, wondering if this was in fact an elaborate way to break some exciting news to him.

But Cora's expression was one of confusion—until she realized exactly what he meant. "Oh, no," she answered quietly, still smiling. "But I hope to be, eventually," she amended. Nodding toward the cradle, she explained, "I thought we could have this brought down to the room across the hall, when the time comes of course."

And then, feeling like he could breathe properly again, Robert nodded. "Yes, certainly, when the time comes." He grinned; leaning down to press a kiss to his wife's cheek, he wondered just how soon that time would be upon them.

He was rather surprised to find he hoped it might be soon.


	43. Drunk

___A/N: I stretched this prompt a bit. You might have to squint to see it! ;)_

**_Imagine your OTP being best friends or something of that sort. Person A gets upset for whatever reason and drinks to feel better. After getting drunk, person A texts or calls person B for comfort, person B thus being the first person on their mind when their brain can't function properly. Person B gets worried and quickly comes over to be at person A's side._**

* * *

She heard his boisterous laughter in the main hall before she saw him. Cora knew she should be in bed; in a handful of hours she was set to be at church, pledging her life to a man who, truthfully, she did not know all that much about. And yet, against her better judgment, she loved him.

So when she heard her brother's unmistakable laugh—no doubt having just returned from the pub—she couldn't help but draw herself from bed to creep across the hall and look down onto the main entrance. And she was correct, for she saw Harold stumbling toward the stairs with Marmaduke Painswick not far behind. Robert, though, was nowhere to be seen.

Before she knew quite what she was doing, Cora wrapped her robe more securely around her and padded down the stairs, meeting her brother halfway down. "Harold, where is Robert?" she demanded.

Her brother's glassy-eyed grin annoyed her to no end, and she had to smack his shoulder to pull him out of his reverie. Finally, he slurred something about Robert being in the library before continuing to drag himself upstairs, Marmaduke a few paces behind and singing a rather bawdy pub song.

Robert was in fact in the library. It was rather dark, save for the dim glow from one oil lamp, but Cora could see his unmistakable outline beached across the settee closest to the door. He released a painful sounding groan when she kneeled and shook him, but turned a second later and fixed her with a wide smile.

"We're getting married tomorrow," he said incredulously—as if the fact had just occurred to him. And then, in an uncanny mimic of his mother's voice, he added, "you shouldn't be here. The bride never sees the groom before the wedding!"

"I know. I wanted to make sure you were alright," Cora murmured, running her fingers through his hair. The gesture was impetuous and felt terribly daring, but at least he would be unlikely to remember her taking such a liberty in the morning.

"Oh yes, I'm perfectly—" Robert paused, attempting to reach out and wrap his arms around her but succeeded only in tumbling off the settee and knocking Cora over too.

Cora was able to hoist herself back into a sitting position quite easily. Robert, though, remained on the floor, staring off at nothing in particular, as if he did not realize he was on the floor. She was just about to prompt him to stand when he rolled toward her and looked up.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching up to touch her cheek. "I'm sorry for all of this."

Cora shook her head, instinctively covering his hand with her own. "It'll be alright," she replied, hoping her words would prove true.

Robert nodded, finally able to pick himself up, but kept his hand pressed to her cheek. "I'll take care of you. I promise," he said.

And then, their faces so close that she could practically taste the whisky on his breath, Robert closed the small gap between them and kissed her—sealing a promise that they would make before everyone the very next morning.


	44. Wrong

**_Imagine your OTP being able to tell what's wrong with each other with just a few words_**

* * *

"You're angry."

"No, I'm not," Cora replied. She still wasn't looking at him, though, so it was all the confirmation he needed.

"Cora, you've been this way since luncheon; if you don't tell me what's wrong, how am I to fix it?" Robert watched as Cora sat up from bed, unceremoniously, and padded over to the basinet situated a few paces away. She picked up a cooing Sybil and held her close, pressing a kiss to her small forehead.

"I'm not angry," she repeated, her eyes still closed and her lips still pursed against Sybil's soft skin. If he weren't so absolutely certain something was wrong, he would let it go. It would be easy, really, to pretend he believed her and spend the evening gazing at his lovely wife and perfect baby daughter.

But that was not who they were; it was not how their relationship functioned. Sweeping things under the rug would make them no better than all those false couples they ran into at balls and who could hardly stand one another. No, they spoke of what bothered them sometimes until they were blue in the face. They talked, always.

"You're not angry," Robert allowed, "but you're upset?"

Cora did not reply but he could see her forehead tense almost imperceptibly at his line of questioning. So he ventured further. "You had luncheon with Mama today?"

Cora looked up at him, her eyes sad and dark, and she held Sybil a bit more tightly against her. "Yes," she answered simply.

Robert sighed. "What has she said now?"

"Nothing. It's nothing—" Cora answered too quickly, sitting so she might nurse the baby.

But he did not need to inquire further; he already knew the one thing that his mother could hold over Cora and drive her to distraction with. "Cora…we've been through this already. Please—please don't listen to Mama when she says these things."

She looked up at him now, wiping her eyes with the hand not secured beneath Sybil's head. "How can I not? She's right, Robert; I've failed at the one thing I promised you."

"No—" Robert's tone was sharper than he intended, so to soften his words, he crossed the room and knelt beside his wife. "No," he repeated more softly. "We've not failed at anything. And I'll not have that word used in reference to our marriage or our family."

Cora nodded again, wiping her eyes once more and offering him a small smile. They sat like that for a long while, Robert's hand covering hers as they both watched Sybil nurse. It was such a simple, sweet thing; he thought he would never tire of it. He could never tire of moments like these, no matter how his mother tried to interject with lectures on heirs and duties. Standing, finally, Robert kissed both his wife and daughter before going off to change, satisfied that all would be well again in the morning.

It occurred to him, as he changed for bed, that somewhere between the years of marriage, the welcoming of children and change, somewhere and somehow, he and Cora had become far stronger together than they ever could be apart.


	45. Party

**_Imagine Person A of your OTP drinking away their sorrows. Just as they're feeling most miserable, they feel a tap on their shoulder, and see Person B behind them with their drink of choice. Together, they talk and drink the night away before stumbling home and falling asleep on the couch._**

* * *

"Thirsty?"

Robert's soft voice startled Cora out of her musings, but was a most welcome distraction. Turning from her seat out on the large balcony she grinned, patting the empty space beside her on the bench. Robert grinned and held up a small flask drawn from his jacket. She knew how he hated these parties; they'd only gone because his parents were off in France for the month and he had complained incessantly about it all day.

She lasted through dinner and two dances before incessant questions about whether or not she was expecting yet had forced her to escape, lest she say something rather unladylike to one of those awful women.

But now things were considerably brighter; she would choose a few stolen moments with Robert over the grandest of balls or dances. She found him far more exciting than a night of waltzes and false smiles.

He grinned again when she took the flask, and released a soft chuckle when she tilted it back without hesitation. "Steady on, now," he laughed, "I can't have you getting woozy now."

Cora only smiled, leaning in a bit closer as she handed it back. "Why ever not? I know you would always be more than willing to carry me."

He nodded, taking a sip and looking back at her with bright eyes. "Yes, that's true." He moved to put the cap back on, but then, as almost an afterthought, held it back out again. "Another?"

Another turned into two which quickly turned to four. And before either Robert or Cora realized, the night turned rather hazy. It was Cora who suggested, finally, after making an ineffectual attempt at removing Robert's dinner jacket, that they venture back to Downton. Robert, larger than his wife and slightly less whisky-soaked, knew that she was right; their night could only be improved by going home and they would never hear the end of it if one of the guests happened to see them drinking on the balcony and necking rather than mingling like a future Earl and Countess.

So, taking Cora's hand gently into his, Robert managed to lead Cora back through the house and out into the carriage where they decided letting the last few sips of whisky go to waste would be an absolutely awful thing to do.

The butler was rather surprised come morning to find both Viscount and Viscountess stretched across a settee in the library, their limbs tangled and an empty flask on the floor beside them.


	46. Parents

**_Imagine Person A of your OTP meeting Person B's parents for the first time, and being really nervous about it. Person B's dad looks at Person A, then turns to their own kid and says, "you picked a good one." Person A laughs, relieved that they have parental approval._**

* * *

He had tried not to be terribly nervous, but had found it an utterly impossible task. Robert had no grand ideas about how the afternoon might go; he knew it was more than likely his mother would say something rude, his sister something inappropriate and his father nothing at all. But remarkably, luncheon had been a rather quiet affair. Cora was a model of etiquette and class. She looked lovelier than he could ever remember seeing her and she had answered each question thrown at her with surprising poise. It seemed he had underestimated his bride to be; she could hold her own with his family, a trait that made her even more appealing than she already was. She engaged his mother in a slight conversation about the shops in London, spoke to Rosamund about her husband and new house in Eaton Square and even got his father to laugh on a few occasions; she was, in a word, a great success. And the fact that his grandmother's sparkling diamond ring was now on her finger began to fill him with a sense of excitement, rather than the vague foreboding that had been there at the start.

But now as they all milled about in the library, the women sipping tea and discussing neutral things like gardening and dresses, Robert walked carefully over to the corner of the room where his father was perched on a chair and cleared his throat. He needed to know, even if it would change nothing about their situation, how his father really felt about Cora. "What do you think, Sir?" He blushed slightly, feeling quite like a little boy, but looked steadily at his father, whose lips were already curled into a smile.

He watched his father look across the room, at Cora and Rosamund laughing over something and his mother pouring more tea for the guests. The servants flitted about and the family dog was lying quietly by the fireplace. It was nothing if not a picturesque scene. His father smiled again, tearing his eyes away from the sight before them, and took a sip of his drink. "You've done well, son. Very well."

"So you approve, then?"

His father chuckled softly. "Robert, if you do not marry Miss Levinson, I will fear you an absolute lunatic. You have my approval, blessing, and congratulations, son." And with that he stood, reaching for the whisky decanter to pour Robert a drink.


	47. Ice

**_Imagine your OTP going ice-skating around Christmas time. Person A falls over and the pair laugh about it for the rest of the evening._**

* * *

They trudged through the thick snow hand in hand. Cora's woolen hat nearly covered her eyes completely and Robert's gloves were so thick he could barely feel the outline of his wife's fingers, but neither seemed to mind as they ambled away from the house and down toward the small pond on the other end of the property.

They'd made a game of it, waiting for weeks on end until the pond might be frozen enough to skate on. Each morning they would walk down to check, Robert tapping the ice methodically with the small hammer he'd borrowed from downstairs, and they would make little bets on when it might finally be ready. Happily, it turned out the fated day was three days before Christmas. And so they walked, skates slung over their shoulders, and approached the small frozen pond.

It was a beautiful morning. Snow had fallen again the night before, blanketing the entire estate with a beautifully glittering layer of white. Branches hung lazily, bowing under the weight of the snow, and the satisfying crunch their boots made against the frozen precipitation was one of their very favorite sounds.

Admittedly, neither Robert nor Cora was particularly adept at ice-skating. But it was tradition; it was something they looked forward to each and every year. It was Cora who had taught Robert how to all those years before, and then Robert who sent down to London for a new pair of skates for them each year. They made quite the team, struggling arm in arm around the ice, giggling each time they gilded too quickly and ended up on their behinds. And this morning was no different—they spent hours playing on the ice, talking about Mary and Edith's Christmas gifts and musing on whether or not they had gone overboard with presents for George and Sybbie. They spoke of Christmas dinner and of spending New Year's Eve in London with Rosamund. They stole kisses every so often, even though their cheeks, lips and noses were frozen, and finally padded off the ice and back onto solid ground when their muscles began to ache in protestation.

Later Mary and Tom, likely Edith, too, would laugh at them for being sore. They would tell them how silly they were for upholding such a minor tradition and insist they promise not to go skating again—to leave such an activity for the children. And, as they always did, they would smile back at them and nod, promising not to take their skates out again for quite a long time. But, far more likely than not, they would amble down to the pond the very next morning, stealing away from the house like children on a mission, utterly content in their very own winter wonderland.


	48. Apart

**_Imagine your OTP breaking up. Person B tries to go on with life and Person A actually starts going out with other person, but then they break up because Person A really misses Person B, but in the end they don't get back together. They just keep on loving each other until the end of their days, but they don't make up because they're too prideful._**

* * *

He watched her from across the room. She looked like _his _Cora, but the twinge in his chest reminded him that she no longer wore the wedding ring he'd slipped onto her finger decades before. She did not sleep beside him at night and she no longer carried his name.

Someone else approached her, reached out for her hand, kissed it, and led her onto the dance floor. He wanted to charge across the room, grab her and shake her until she looked at him again but it was as if his feet were rooted to the ground. As hard as he tried, he could not move. All he saw were the circles they made around the dance floor, Cora's delicate gown sweeping the ground and her partner's fingers curled around her waist. Again, he wanted to move, wanted to hold her and kiss her; he could almost feel his arms reaching out to touch her.

And then, finally, as the waltz died down and the crowd on the floor dissipated, she looked up. Her eyes, more blue than he ever remembered them being, bore into him and she smiled sweetly. He wanted to wave, an impossibly humiliating gesture, but his arm felt stiff as her smile faded away and she turned back to her partner, curling her arm around his and leaning close to kiss his cheek.

His mouth tasted metallic and the sweat coursing over his body was enough to drown him. _No_—he wanted to cry out, to call to her just once. But opening his mouth proved pointless as well. Not even a strangled sound came out. It was too late—he watched her cross the room, still arm in arm with someone else, and head toward the doorway. This time he willed his body to move, to do something, _anything, _to stop this horrific scene from continuing. But it was too late.

When he finally managed to move, it was only to slip, his body falling with a _smack _against the hard floor of the ballroom. His head pounded, and he heard the people around him calling his name over and over, the tones of the voices growing softer as the details of the room began to fade.

"—_Robert!" _

Disoriented, he blinked his eyes open and saw the dark outlines of their bedroom. Cora was sitting up beside him, her hands on his body, and she repeated his name again. "Robert, darling, you were shouting," she murmured when their sleepy eyes met.

His heart was pounding, his nightshirt soaked through with sweat. But it was all he could do to reach up and pull Cora close, murmuring her name over and over.

"Darling?" She questioned softly, running her fingers lightly through his hair and peppering kisses across his forehead.

"Bad dream," he answered, holding her as tightly as he could. "It was just a bad dream."


	49. Good

**_Imagine person A being told their entire life that they are a bad person/useless person and them believing it… then person B discovering this broken and sad person and doing everything in their power to show them that they are amazing and love them as much as they can. Very slowly, person A believes it and opens up enough to let person B in._**

* * *

"Papa's at it again," Robert muttered, slipping into bed. Cora looked up from her book, the novel balanced against her heavily-pregnant form, and raised a brow in question.

"At what, darling?"

"Apparently I have botched the ledgers again," he sighed, turning onto his side as his hand found the swell of her abdomen. "Perhaps I should just leave him to it—he always said I never had a head for numbers…"

"Robert Crawley, stop acting like such a child," Cora scolded, drawing a shocked look from him. "We're about to have a child; I can't very well manage two." She smiled, hoping her indulgent expression would appease him, and kissed his temple as she covered his hand with her own. "And I'll not have you speak ill of my husband," she chuckled.

Robert scoffed, his eyes still fixed on their hands. "What if I ruin everything? We'll have to live in a cabin in the woods with the baby," he replied sardonically.

"You're not going to ruin anything, my darling. Stop putting such stock in your father's words. He's always hard on you," she answered, picking up his hand and moving it to the place where the baby had just begun to kick.

"He just wants me to learn the proper way of doing things," Robert sighed, though his sour mood was belied by the wide grin that spread across his features as he felt the unmistakable kicking motions.

"Well, you will. But we have time, don't we? We'll all learn. And if we don't, well, I'll teach you how to chop wood for our cabin," Cora laughed.

"Good Lord, let's hope it does not come to that," Robert muttered, leaning back into his pillows. Tomorrow I'll go over them again and if I can't make sense of it, I'll call Jarvis and have him explain it all."

"See? That was solved easy enough," Cora smiled. "Now, might you read to me instead of moping?" Her sweet tone was enough to melt even the iciest of hearts. He was utterly useless at even attempting to refuse. So, taking the book from her hand with mock indignation, Robert patted his shoulder, gesturing for her to settle in, and began to read.


	50. Love

_A/N: I just thought this last drabble was so serendipitously perfect! So, this concludes my "Falling Stars" drabble series. And yes, I will eventually be posting a longer story as an extension of the earlier drabble everyone voted for. Thank you so much for reading!_

**_Imagine your OTP arguing. As Person A gets more emotional he/she admits that they love Person B so much, but knows that Person B will never love them like that. Then quietly Person B whispers that __it's not true__._**

* * *

Cora brushed out of the ballroom, down the main hallway, and up the stairs faster than Robert could even realize quite what had happened. Everything had been fine, or so he thought, and they were having a perfectly lovely time at his sister's engagement ball.

He was mid-waltz with Lady Olivia Gregory when he saw Cora, just out of the corner of his eye. She was glaring, obviously, and had her arms crossed most aggressively. When the dance finished and he approached her, more tentatively than he would care to admit, she stood as if to leave. Rather stupidly, he called her name, reaching out to grab her hand before she could go.

And then she had yelled. Mostly rambling sentences that utterly confused him; she was saying something about him being close to Lady Olivia, who he hardly knew and who had also stepped on his foot three times during that waltz. She hadn't even given him a chance to explain any of that before storming out, leaving him there to contend with the curious glances from the various guests, and his mother's deathly glare for having caused a scene.

She did not answer when he knocked at the door and did not look up when he entered, only to find her lying on the bed in tears.

"Cora, I didn't mean to upset you," he attempted to soothe her, kneeling beside the bed as he stroked her hair.

She only turned away, though, out of his grasp, and cried, "I don't understand, Robert."

He wondered, momentarily, if all marriages were like this. He, too, very often did not understand. It was almost a daily occurrence, really.

"Neither do I," he replied plainly, still kneeling.

"You don't feel that way about me," Cora answered, sitting up as she wiped her eyes. Her gown was horribly wrinkled and her hair had come half undone but she was still more beautiful than any of the women still in the ballroom.

"What way?" He asked dumbly, moving to sit beside her.

"The talking, the laughing," she allowed, gesturing vaguely at the door. "It's only a matter of time before you fall for one of those _English _women," she continued, saying English as if it were some sort of special honor.

"I still don't understand…"

Cora sighed, shaking her head. She likely thought him a lost cause. "I love you, so much it makes my heart pound whenever I see you," she explained, color rising in her cheeks. "But you don't love me, and so it's only a matter of time before one of those women steals you away."

Robert laughed, realizing it was absolutely not the right emotional response when Cora looked bewilderedly at him.

"Cora, of course I love you," he replied matter-of-factly.

It had dawned on him several months before, actually. And ever since then their marriage had been even lovelier; she was the woman he loved. It never occurred to him that verbalizing those feelings would change their relationship even more. And besides, it was not proper to speak so plainly. But now, as she looked at him with such a mixture of confusion and anger, he thought perhaps he might do well to be a bit more expressive in future.

Years later when they talked of that night, Cora would roll her eyes and jab him playfully. Robert would sheepishly feign a poor memory, and pretend the entire event had slipped his mind. Neither would forget, though, the kisses they shared after, the waltzes—only with each other—in the ballroom, and the tender _I love you _that they each whispered excitedly, as if they had perhaps stumbled upon something rather grand.

And looking back on it they knew, more certain than ever, it was indeed rather grand.


End file.
